IF THERE WAS A HEAD VAMPIRE IN NORTH America, Cassandra DuCharme would be it. Had she not been the oldest, she could have laid claim to the position by attitude alone. Cassandra could teach Cabal CEOs lessons in imperiousness.
Because she was the senior council delegate for the vampire community, anything affecting that community should be brought to her attention. Yet as Cassandra neared the end of her life, she found it increasingly difficult to care about the rest of her community—a condition made worse, I suspect, by a preexisting lack of natural empathy.
This alone would be an excellent excuse to bypass Cassandra and go straight to her codelegate Aaron, who was far more likely to know—and care—about vampires in the Pacific Northwest. But as Paige pointed out, Cassandra was trying to overcome her disconnection and involve herself more fully in vampire affairs. To go directly to Aaron would not only be rude, it would undermine and denigrate her efforts.
So off to Cassandra it was. And we did need to go to her. Flying across the country was ridiculous in an age of telephones and e-mail, but one doesn’t tell a 350-year-old vampire that one doesn’t believe she’s worth the effort of a personal visit.
We couldn’t even claim want of funds. As soon as we’d agreed to take the case, Sean had whipped off a check for ten thousand dollars as a retainer. An exorbitant amount, and both Paige and I had protested, but Savannah had snatched up the check with a thanks. As for Sean, he couldn’t write it out fast enough. Come Sunday morning, he was heading back to Los Angeles, and we were off to see Cassandra.
On the plane, we read through the pages Paige had printed off the Internet, on chupacabras in general and the Middleton incidents in particular. Savannah was with us, having told Sean how important it was for her to be involved in interracial council business from a young age. He’d bought it, and insisted we include expenses for Savannah’s participation. After he’d left, Paige had tried to persuade Savannah to stay behind, but an opportunity to bedevil Cassandra was not one Savannah could pass up.
So we were seated on a small commuter flight, Paige and me on one side of the aisle, and Savannah on the other. This part of an investigation—researching a mythological beast—she was interested in…particularly if it provided support for her theory that your average human was a gullible fool.
As for the indiscretion of discussing such matters on a public flight, it wasn’t a concern. Those hearing Savannah passing us tidbits like “Oooh, look, this one has bat wings” merely glanced at her with amused tolerance. Even Paige, leaning over to see, only earned the occasional “Should you really be encouraging her?” look.
According to the most reliable sources we found, chupacabras were a relatively recent addition to the pantheon of paranormal beasts. First reported in Puerto Rico in 1975, they’d been blamed for attacks on farm animals. Livestock had been found with neck incisions, their corpses drained of blood. Sporadic Puerto Rican reports continued for twenty years, then like many Puerto Ricans, the creature decided to investigate opportunities on the mainland.
Over the last ten years, chupacabra attacks had been reported in Mexico, Chile, Central America, and the southern United States. It was when they reached Chile that another requisite component of any decent supernatural legend was added—some of the creatures had been caught by U.S. government officials who were, of course, denying all allegations.
As for exactly what a chupacabra was, the most common representation looked like the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. The creature was said to be about four feet tall, with leathery gray skin, coarse hair, fangs, and glowing eyes.
As for how one arrived in Washington State, none of the local papers speculated. One article mentioned a Michigan report of a chupacabra attacking a cat, so perhaps that was supposed to be proof that a northern precedent had already been set.
The Middleton case had begun just over a month ago, when a couple that ran an organic sheep farm found one of their animals dead, drained of blood with throat incisions. The death was blamed on local youths. Then, when a pig was found with the same marks, the rumors of El Chupacabra hit Middleton, and from that first whisper, a local legend was born.
A few chickens and an aging goat had followed, along with a sighting of the beast itself, making off with a cat. From the tone of the articles, though, no one in Middleton seemed particularly worried about having a demonic beast ravaging their livestock. The outbreaks were contained, few animals were affected, and on the whole it seemed to be viewed as a welcome break of frivolous speculation after a long, dull winter.
Then Billy Arnell died with puncture wounds in his neck, and everything changed.
Paige rang the bell on Cassandra’s condo. We waited two minutes, then Paige turned and started down the steps.
“We called, we came, we made every effort—” she began.
The door opened.
“Damn,” she muttered. “So close.”
“Paige, Lucas, finally,” Cassandra said, opening the door. Her gaze turned left and her polite smile faltered. “Savannah. Don’t you have school?”
“Not on Sunday,” Savannah said, brushing past and walking inside. “And you got my name right. That’s the third time in a row. You can still remember people. You just don’t bother.”
Cassandra turned to Paige. “Still working on her manners, I see.”
“They gave up,” Savannah said. “They kept thinking I’d grow out of my rudeness, but then they’d look at you and …” She shrugged. “Proof that it doesn’t always happen.”
Cassandra shook her head and opened the closet so we could hang our jackets.
“Did I mention I’m considering going to college near here?” Savannah said. “I thought maybe I’d room with you. That’d be okay, right?”
“Certainly. So long as you abide by the house rules.” Cassandra smiled, flashing her fangs. “Boarders have to provide dinner for the host.”
Savannah only laughed and strode into the living room. “Any new paintings?”
“In the sitting room. It’s a—”
“Don’t tell me. Let’s see if I can figure it out.”
Cassandra’s green eyes glittered. “Twenty dollars if you do. Artist and period. It’s a difficult one.”
Savannah accepted the bet and strode off.
We walked into the living room. Large, airy, and modern, it was hardly what one would expect from a vampire, particularly with the sunlight streaming through the three large windows. We sat on the sofa—a modern designer piece that I was sure was worth more than our entire living room suite. All the furnishings in the room were modern, including the paintings. It seemed odd for someone who made a living dealing in antiques and historical art. But as Paige says, trying to determine Cassandra’s motivation for anything is an exercise in futility.
“Savannah is joking, isn’t she?” Cassandra said as she sat down. “About college. She can’t possibly be old enough.”
“One more year of high school,” Paige said. “Though she’s kidding about coming here. She’s thinking of taking a year at a local college first. She’d move out, live on campus or close to it, but still be in Portland. I’d like that.”
“Yes, I imagine you’re eager to get her out of the house.”
“I meant the ‘living close for a year’ part, not the ‘moving out’ part.”
I cut in. “In regards to this potential vampire problem …”
Paige told Cassandra the story.
“Oh, that is preposterous,” she said when Paige finished. “I can’t believe someone is wasting their money and your time to prove the obvious. It’s clearly not a vampire.”
“Yes,” I said, “but do you know of any living in the Washington area?”
“Am I talking to myself? This is not a vampire and, while I can forgive you for not knowing better, Paige should. Vampires do not leave their annual kills just lying about—”
“May 1979,” Paige said. “The council investigated reports of a corpse found in New Orleans—”
“Oh, that’s New Orleans. It doesn’t count.”
“September 1963. Philadelphia.”
“That was a mistake. An untrained new vampire. There are no new vampires in North America right now.”
“Recent immigrants?”
“Not that I’ve heard of.”
Paige looked at Cassandra. She said nothing, but they both understood what her look imparted—the reminder that Cassandra wasn’t always up to date on vampire activity. Cassandra conceded the point with a dip of her head.
“But still, to leave gaping neck wounds? Unnecessary, which you know, Paige. That alone should rule out vampires—”
“New York, 1985.”
Cassandra let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you memorize the council records?”
“No, I just came prepared.”
“Then you know that New York case was special. The vampire was interrupted and the body was discovered before she could finish and dispose of it.”
A moment of silence, then Paige said, “Do you want to call Aaron? You’re right. This almost certainly isn’t a vampire, so there’s no reason for you to get involved. We just want to warn any vampires living in the area, in case the Cabals get wind of this and give them a hard time. Aaron can answer our questions and leave you out of it.”
Cassandra looked out the front window, and I could see she was struggling not to give in to what must have been an overwhelming urge to say: “Yes, give it to Aaron.”
“Aaron could use the experience …” she mused.
“Okay, then, we’ll call.”
Cassandra continued, as if not hearing Paige, her gaze still on the window. “But if the Cabals do get involved, they’ve been looking for an excuse for retaliation, after Edward and Natasha. Though it seems obvious a vampire is not responsible, the outward appearance of a vampire kill may be enough to provide that excuse …”
“That’s our fear,” I said.
“Are there any vampires living in Washington, Cassandra?” Paige asked.
“I believe there is one. Let me call Aaron.”
AARON DARNELL WAS CASSANDRA’S CODELEGATE on the interracial council. Their relationship went back further than that—much further, as is often the case with vampires. While I had the impression it ended with a betrayal, I knew none of the details, though I would presume Cassandra had done the betraying. It was in her character as much as it was not in Aaron’s.
I did not know any vampires well. Like werewolves, they play no role in Cabals, and while I always say, half jokingly, that’s because Cabals are loath to employ anyone who might mistake them for lunch, the antipathy goes far deeper than that. It’s fear of the other. That’s what werewolves and vampires are, even to supernaturals. The other. Too different. Too foreign.
Sorcerers and witches can harness the power of magic, necromancers can speak to the dead, half-demons can influence weather or create fire, and shamans can project their spirits from their bodies, but we are all essentially human. We look human. We share a human anatomy. We live a human life, with human vulnerabilities, and die a human death. Should we choose to deny our powers, we can pass for human.
While it’s true that werewolves and vampires can live undetected among humans, they cannot deny their essential selves. Werewolves must change into wolves regularly. Vampires must feed from humans and take one life per year. Werewolves are long-lived and slow-aging. Vampires live for hundreds of years without aging, and are invulnerable to injury.
Centuries ago, when the sorcerer families began building Cabals, they looked at the potential workforce and made their choices. Sorcerers, half-demons, shamans, necromancers, and minor races? Yes. Witches…if necessary. Vampires and werewolves? No. Too much “the other.” And, perhaps, at some level, too much a threat. Too uncontrollable. Too…predatory.
I grew up with that prejudice, though I work to overcome it. It doesn’t help that the vampire and werewolf communities are so small that I rarely encounter one. Paige’s ties with the werewolf Pack immersed me in that culture by necessity, and I can now count werewolves among my friends. Vampires, though? I can work with them. But comfortably? I still struggled with that.
Those prejudices ran a dozen times deeper within the Cabals, which meant that it was critically important to solve Sean’s case before the Cabals heard of it.
“Spencer Geddes,” Aaron’s voice crackled over the speakerphone after Cassandra finished explaining what we needed. “Lives outside Seattle. Or he did last I heard. Geddes isn’t the type to provide a forwarding address.”
“A loner,” Cassandra said. “Even for a vampire.”
“Christ, that echo’s bad. You got me on speakerphone, Cass? Lots of great inventions in the last century, but that’s not one of them.”
“Do you have a last known address for Mr. Geddes?” I asked.
“Sure do. And they’re forecasting rain tomorrow, so no bricklaying. I’ll swing out to Portland, meet up with you guys—”
“I have this, Aaron,” Cassandra said.
A static-filled pause. “You sure? I can catch up and we’ll both go.”
Cassandra hesitated long enough for Aaron to whistle.
“Still there?” he said.
“Yes, and while I appreciate the offer, he doesn’t need both of us showing up on his doorstep. If you have an address and a physical description—”
“You’ve never met him?” Paige said.
“Neither have I,” Aaron said. “When Cass said he’s a loner, she wasn’t kidding. He emigrated from Europe in the late nineties. Josie apparently went to extend a welcome shortly after he arrived—”
“I’m sure she did,” Cassandra murmured.
“Her welcome wasn’t welcome,” Aaron said. “Maybe you’ll be more his type.”
We finished getting everything Aaron knew about Geddes. It was remarkably little, considering how well connected Aaron was within his community. After we signed off, I suggested Paige, Savannah, and I return to Portland. Cassandra could fly into Seattle the next morning, where we could meet and escort her to Geddes—
“You have a guest room, do you not?” she said.
Paige shook her head. “Just a pullout sofa. And Sean used that last night, so I haven’t cleaned—”
“I don’t sleep very much these days anyway. What time is our plane?”
Paige looked at me, begging for a way out of this.
“Six o’clock,” Savannah said.
“I’ll go pack then.”
On the flight back, Paige had Savannah sit with Cassandra. As she reasoned, if anything would persuade Cassandra to find a hotel for the night, that would be it.
The ploy failed. On some level, I think Cassandra was genuinely fond of Paige, whom she’s known from birth. It was not, however, a grandmotherly sort of relationship. More like a mother-in-law, Paige always said.
It’s difficult for me to watch Cassandra badger Paige, second-guessing her decisions, giving her unwanted—and almost always critical—advice. The discomfort was magnified by the knowledge that I could not interfere. I’d once tried to defend Paige against Cassandra’s tongue, only to have Paige ask me not to do so. She was right. Arguing with Cassandra only made things worse.
I know, too, that to Cassandra my silence spoke ill of me. To put it bluntly, I looked like a wimp, standing by silent as my wife was harangued. If I stepped in to defend her, I might feel better about myself, but I’d insult Paige. Yet concern over my image is hardly sufficient grounds for insulting my wife.
So I would do as Paige wished and keep my mouth shut. Cassandra already thought poorly enough of me on other counts that clearing up this misconception wouldn’t make a difference.
Once back in Portland, Paige and I wanted to drop Cassandra and Savannah off at the house and head out on the case. Cassandra stared at us as if we’d gone mad. Or more accurately, stared at me as if this was clearly my idea and I should be ashamed of myself, dragging Paige to Oregon so late.
“Surely this can wait until morning,” she said. “I can’t imagine what you hope to accomplish at this hour.”
“Checking on Geddes, of course,” Paige said.
“You’re hoping to secure this man’s trust and assistance by arriving on his doorstep at two in the morning?”
“No, we’re hoping to make sure he hasn’t bolted. Or gone looking for a fresh victim.”
“And if he’s not there? You can hardly speak to his neighbors or employer after midnight. Better to rest tonight and get an early start in the morning.”
Paige looked at me. I knew she was eager to get to work, but Cassandra did have a point. The Cabal wouldn’t learn about the case until today as they reviewed the weekend news. If they decided to pursue it, it would take time to assemble an investigation team. While they were capable of moving faster, the dead man was human and Cabal interests were not in danger, so there was no need for haste.
When we arrived home, Cassandra insisted on a proper tour. She’d been to our home once, for a Christmas party, but now she wanted the opportunity to explore—and evaluate—it fully.
Our house was in one of the older but less prestigious neighborhoods of Portland. A street of narrow two-story homes, most of which had been allowed to “age gracefully” for many years—neither neglected nor regularly renovated, but owned by middle-class families that’d lived there most of their lives.
As the owners died and the homes went up for sale, the area underwent a “revitalization.” Gentrification, one could say, though not to the extent of boutiques and cafés popping up on the corner. A strictly residential neighborhood, with homes that ranged from high-end to…ours.
Our house had been one of the last holdouts, standing firm in the face of real estate suitors who’d stuffed the mailbox with offers. When the owner died, his grandson—a particularly danger-prone half-demon whom I’d helped several times—had seen the opportunity to repay me by offering us the house at a fair market price, uninflated by demand in this particular neighborhood. So we had bought it.
Or, I should say, Paige had bought it. She’d argue the point—marriage means shared property—and my “contribution” had been the reduced price.
At the time, it had seemed a deal my pride could live with. She had money from her inheritance and insurance, so it made sense for her to buy it, but soon I’d be contributing my full share to our living expenses.
Almost three years later, that had yet to happen. If anything, I contributed less—most of my income going to expenses incurred in taking on out-of-state clients. I told myself I was building credibility and it would pay off…but I’d been building it since college with little change in income.
Now, as we led Cassandra around the house, I was keenly aware of her roving gaze, picking out a repair I had yet to complete or a project Paige was undertaking in my absence—and keenly aware, too, of her language, which attributed the house and all it encompassed to Paige.
While others would focus instead on the good I was doing in my work, Cassandra gave me no such allowances. She had come to accept, albeit grudgingly, that I did love Paige, but persisted in seeing me as an idealistic gadabout, so intent on saving the world that he doesn’t tend to his own corner of it. Like so many of Cassandra’s criticisms, as unfairly critical as it seemed on the surface, there was, underneath, that harsh kernel of truth that made it all the more uncomfortable.
On her tour, Cassandra lingered longest in the office.
“We’re still working on plans to move this to the basement,” Paige said. “We keep meaning to, but we haven’t had a chance yet.”
Cassandra’s gaze cut to mine, telling me she knew full well who “hadn’t had a chance yet.” She surveyed the room.
“I hope you aren’t clearing it out for a nursery,” she said. “Once Savannah finally leaves, you should take time for yourselves, not pop out babies—”
“No nurseries in the foreseeable future. We just need”—Paige waved around—“a bigger office.”
“Why don’t you use Savannah’s room? It’ll be empty soon enough.”
“Excuse me?” Savannah said as she passed on the way to her room. “I’m going to college, not Siberia. I’ll be back on weekends and holidays.”
“I’m sure you’ll find the sofa bed quite serviceable.”
Savannah snorted and disappeared into her room.
“I hope you’re getting that twenty you owe me,” Cassandra called.
“Like you need it,” Savannah called back. “And I only owe you ten—I got the artist right, just not the period.”
“Well, I should hope you got the artist right, considering he signed his name.” Cassandra turned back to the office, gaze going to the oversized wipe-off calendar. “Is that your schedule, Paige? My God, how do you find a moment’s time for yourself? You really have to learn to say no to people—particularly with your volunteer efforts, however just the cause.”
She waved at the blinking answering machine. “And five new messages on a Sunday? I hope those aren’t for work. If you let clients get away with calling you at all hours—”
“Lucas?” Paige cut in. “Could you check those? I want to show Cassandra the bed.” She turned to Cassandra. “It’s an antique. Needs some work, but I picked it up cheap—”
“I should hope so, if it needs work. You must watch antique dealers, Paige—”
“—and I was hoping you could give us some advice on how to find someone suitable to repair it.”
Paige waved Cassandra into the bedroom and pantomimed throttling her from behind as she passed.
“Wouldn’t do any good,” I murmured.
“I know,” she whispered with a grin. “But that’s okay. All the pleasure. None of the guilt.”
In the next room, Cassandra returned to her diatribe about Paige’s workload. I knew Paige had already tuned her out. Yet it was one subject on which I wish she’d listen. Like Cassandra’s quiet insinuations about my freeloading, there was some truth in this. Paige did work too hard.
If someone needed help, Paige was always there. While I understood that urge better than anyone, I saw the toll it took and knew that the real solution was not to reduce her volunteer efforts, but to focus them in the direction she loved: her work for the council.
Yet how could she jet off to Indiana or South Carolina, chasing a council investigation, when she had Savannah to look after, a household to run, and a full-time job to attend to? She had to refocus that altruistic urge on local charities, concentrate on her Web site business, and let me pursue cases of injustice involving supernaturals. Let me live her dream while she paid our bills.
That would change. When Savannah left for college, Paige would have more freedom to travel, either on her own cases or accompanying me, taking her programming work with her. And yet …
Perhaps it’s pride speaking again, but I didn’t want Paige to have to wait for Savannah to leave. More important, I didn’t want Savannah’s leaving to resolve the problem for me. I wanted to prove to Paige that I recognized and regretted the injustice of our financial arrangements and was willing to make sacrifices to see her dreams realized. But I had yet to find a way to accomplish my goal, and had begun to suspect with each passing year that Savannah’s leave-taking would solve it before I did, however much I wished otherwise.
I lowered the volume on the answering machine. Three messages were indeed work-related for Paige—two clients and a coworker from a volunteer group. The fourth was also for her. It was Adam, asking how “that, uh, thing went.” Then came the fifth.
“Lucas, it’s Papá. I’ll be in Portland later this week. I have business in the area and I’m looking forward to seeing you and Paige. Give me a call—”
I hit the stop button and went to join Paige in the bedroom.
I could have pretended not to have received my father’s message. Four years ago, I would have…then suffered the self-disgust that would accompany so blatantly immature an avoidance tactic. When I first contemplated a relationship with Paige, I’d assumed it would further damage my fractious relationship with my father. I know others have speculated that I began seeing her for that very reason—to upset him. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I had no desire to hurt my father. I rebelled against his way of life by retreating, not by lashing out. With my father, my defensive strategy had always been to ignore him. Engaging him, by dating someone who would cause embarrassment to the Cabal and the family, would hardly have achieved that goal.
And yet to everyone’s surprise, perhaps my own most of all, my relationship with my father has improved since I began seeing Paige. Greatly improved. Ignoring him had always been difficult for me. Whatever our ethical differences, I wanted a relationship with him. Even though I’d grown up with my mother, I’d been closer to him than most children who live with their fathers. Paige taught me that it took more strength to stand firm in my opposing philosophical beliefs than to run and hide them from his influence.
It was a far from easy situation. Lately, though, he’d eased back in his manipulations and his attempts to return me to the Cabal fold. I thought we’d been making progress. Now I saw my error. He’d simply been letting me relax my guard before a strategic strike—the Portland satellite office.
I wanted to call him back and demand answers. Yet I knew that even if I caught him off-guard, there was no guarantee I could elicit the truth. The telephone also placed the matter in his favor, giving me no body language cues or facial expressions with which to judge the veracity of his claims. Better to wait until he was here and get my answers face-to-face.
In the meantime, I had other things to occupy my attention. So I called and left a message explaining that I was on a case, but if he let me know when he’d be in town I’d set aside time to meet him.
THE NEXT MORNING, PAIGE DROPPED ME OFF in Tacoma. She and Cassandra would continue on to Geddes’s house while I’d rent a car and drive back to Middleton to investigate the murder. I understood this was an efficient division of labor—one that I’d suggested—yet I couldn’t help wishing I could fully share this investigation with Paige…preferably without Cassandra.
Before we left, Paige had joked about sending Cassandra to Middleton in my place. Let her sweep through town, demanding answers, and they might give up the killer willingly, just to get rid of her. The alternative would be to send Cassandra to Seattle alone to deal with Geddes. But, again, while tempting, she was liable to stride up to Geddes’s door, ring the bell a few times, and if he didn’t answer, leave and declare her duty done.
I arrived in Middleton at ten and proceeded to the police station. I did not, however, go inside, but instead found the nearest coffee shop. It was the sort one could expect to find in any town—heavy on linoleum and vinyl, the faint smell of burnt coffee ingrained in every surface.
I picked up an abandoned newspaper from a booth, then perched on a stool at the counter. After ordering a black coffee, I opened the paper, not so much to read it as to persuade the two police officers sitting beside me that I wasn’t interested in their conversation.
One glance at the newspaper heading told me the murder had not been solved. It took only a few minutes more of eavesdropping to know it wasn’t even close to being solved.
The chupacabra attacks had not been a high priority for the local authorities. They’d been playing hot potato with the state police. The town side argued that livestock attacks were a rural concern and therefore state jurisdiction. The state side argued that the first had fallen within town boundaries and the perpetrators were almost certainly town residents. Both sides argued that they had neither the budget nor the manpower to invest in isolated attacks on livestock. Now that a murder had been committed, the town police had taken control but were practically starting from scratch.
When the officers left, so did I, pausing only long enough that I wouldn’t appear to be following them. They headed back to the station, the one place I couldn’t follow them, so I stopped to check my phone. Paige had sent a text message, to avoid interrupting me.
“House yes. Occp’d no. Will check records.”
In other words, the address Aaron provided appeared to be correct, but Geddes was not at home. They’d take some time checking public records while awaiting his return.
If he was home and hiding, I hoped Paige didn’t realize it. She was not above taking risks in pursuit of a suspect she deemed a danger to others.
I reopened my phone, then stopped. Paige could handle this.
I took a deep breath, then closed the phone, pocketed it, and continued walking.
I pushed open the front door to the Middleton Herald and stood in line behind a woman dropping off a classified ad for a washer and dryer, and debating with the receptionist the merits of “good working condition” over merely “working condition.”
I assessed my surroundings. A small reception area with offices to the rear and stairs to the left, presumably leading up to more offices.
“Can I help you?” asked a voice to my right.
A middle-aged, heavyset man stood in a doorway, eyeing me, likely trying to figure out what I was selling. While I’d forgone my suit that day, I was well aware that my definition of casual—a dress shirt and slacks—didn’t coincide with most people’s.
I extended a hand. “Luis Cortez, Miami Standard. I was wondering whether someone might have a moment to discuss the chupacabra case.”
I flashed my press pass. The Miami Standard was a tiny Spanish newspaper in Miami, owned by a half-demon I’d helped years ago. In return, he’d provided me with press credentials for his paper and was always ready to verify my employment.
“Miami, huh?” The reporter waved me toward a flight of stairs. “Guess that makes sense. Case like this would probably interest your readership down there. I suppose you people know more about this chupacabra stuff than we do.”
I suspected that by “you people” he didn’t mean Floridians, but I only said, “Yes, sir,” as I followed him upstairs.
At the top, he ushered me into a small room with a table and a few cheap chairs.
“So, where you from?” he asked as I sat.
“Miami.”
A laugh. Then, “Before that, I mean.”
I resisted the urge to say “Miami.” My father’s family had come from Spain nearly two hundred years ago. My closest immigrant relative was my maternal grandfather, whose parents had arrived from Cuba when he was an infant. We must pick our battles, and this wasn’t one I’d chosen for my life. So I lied and said my family was from Mexico, and listened while he waxed eloquent about a winter trip to Acapulco.
“I believe there were reports of chupacabra activity in that region in the early nineties,” I said, not because I knew any such thing, but because it provided a polite segue back to the topic. “And I do appreciate you taking the time to speak to me this morning, Mr….”
“Sullivan. Call me Sully.”
I told him what I knew so far about the case.
“Yeah, cops dropped the ball on this one,” he said. “Can’t say I blame them, though. I think this whole chupacabra nonsense made them—” He stopped. “I mean, not to offend anyone’s beliefs or mythology …”
“The chupacabra is considered a modern myth, unconnected to any religious or cultural beliefs. It’s merely a legend that people enjoy propagating, but one that most do not believe in. Similar to, let’s say, werewolves.”
Sullivan grinned. “Good, then, we’re speaking the same language. The lingua franca of superstitious bullshit. That’s why the cops were giving those animal mutilations low priority.”
“Not wanting to lend credence to what is presumably a hoax.”
“You got it.”
From Sullivan, I received the names and addresses of people involved, from the farmers originally targeted by the mutilations to the dead man’s widow. It was rarely so simple, but in Sullivan I’d landed a fortunate break. He’d lived in Middleton all his life and had likely been the paper’s lead reporter in his day. As he’d neared retirement, though, he’d been moved to an editorial desk and appreciated the distraction and ego boost of talking to a young reporter.
“So the question is, how does Billy Arnell’s death tie in with these livestock killings?” he finished.
“Does it?” I asked.
Sullivan frowned. “You think the murder is separate? Seems to me there has to be a link, and I’ll bet it has something to do with that bar.”
“Was Arnell gay?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? He had a wife—ex-wife, too—and four kids, but …” Sullivan shrugged. “Maybe someplace like Miami, a young man such as yourself might go into a gay bar with some friends, and it doesn’t mean anything. But here? A guy like Arnell? Thirty-eight, blue-collar worker, never lived anywhere but Middleton? He doesn’t just walk into a place like that for a beer.”
As soon as I left the office, I tried calling Paige, telling myself I only wanted to provide an update. If I’d had any doubts as to my true intentions, they evaporated when Paige’s voice mail clicked on and my stomach clenched. I disconnected and called again. Still no answer.
Here then was my excuse to go to her and reassure myself that she was safe, join her hunt for Geddes. Yet logically I knew that the chance that she needed rescue was minimal. Whatever scrapes Paige got herself into, she always managed to find a way out. Most likely, it was simply an inconvenient time to answer her phone.
If I dropped my investigation to run to her aid, only to discover that she’d been busy chatting up a city hall records clerk when I’d called, it would be awkward. Serious backpedaling and prevarication would be required.
No, I had to leave a message, and phone back when I could.
Next, I stopped at the bar. The owner was in, doing paperwork. Pictures of his wife and kids plastered the office walls, competing for space with centerfold pinups and girlie calendars. A man who wanted everyone to know he ran a gay bar purely for the profit.
He agreed to answer my questions, thrilled that his establishment might be mentioned in a Miami newspaper. His answers added little to my current knowledge. He knew Arnell, but swore he’d never been a patron or had any reason to be in the bar—deliveries, odd jobs, and such. I was, however, welcome to take a look around.
The police had finished processing the scene, and the bar had returned to business as usual. On a Monday afternoon, though, it was closed and empty, so I could investigate freely, arousing the interest only of a lone cleaner.
The storage room was located in the bathroom hall, which Sean said had been occupied by several people when he’d found the corpse. Difficult then for someone to drag Arnell’s body in during business hours. It could be done, though, if executed early enough in the evening.
Contrary to Sullivan’s suspicions, I doubted Arnell had been a patron. Sean had come here because he deemed it safe—a place far enough from home and his colleagues in Tacoma that he wouldn’t risk encountering anyone he knew. A gay Middleton man attempting to hide his sexual orientation wouldn’t set foot in here.
I checked the storage room. The lock was broken. Sean said the door had been left ajar. Someone had wanted the body found.
I walked to the rear exit. It opened only from the inside. From outside, it required a key. Unless …
I found the cleaner and asked whether she ever arrived to find the back door propped open.
“At least once a week,” she said. “They use it to sneak outside and do…whatever, then come back in. I tell Neil—that’s the bartender—to check it before he leaves, but he never remembers. I tell you, one of these days, he’s going to come in and find me dead, killed by some punk cleaning out the liquor.”
While I was in the bar, Paige had text-messaged. I phoned the moment I got outside. She was fine and had been questioning someone when I’d called. They were making the rounds, gathering information on Geddes while regularly swinging past to check his house.
“No sign of Geddes yet, but I think he’s only out for the day. There were wet tire tracks in his driveway earlier, suggesting he left this morning. He’s a financial advisor, self-employed, but a neighbor said he’s often gone for the day, so he probably conducts his business through house calls. His home is a single-family detached bungalow in a suburb, which makes a stakeout tough, but we found a church parking lot about a half-block down and we can see his driveway from here. When we’ve exhausted our sources, that’s where we can hole up and wait for him.”
“Sounds as if you have everything under control.”
A husky laugh. “Not really, but I’m trying. All those years on the council, thinking I knew how to conduct an investigation…then finding out how little I did know.”
But it was under control. Meaning there was no excuse for me to join them. I swallowed my disappointment and offered a few suggestions.
As we discussed the possible necessity of a postdark break-in, I’ll admit that prospect helped alleviate my disappointment. Standard investigative work, such as I’d been doing all day, while necessary, is somewhat less than exhilarating. And while I understand and accept the need for the monotony, I’m more than happy to alleviate it with the occasional bout of “less than legal” adventuring.
I continued my rounds of the places and people involved in the chupacabra “appearances.” While I maintained the guise of a Miami reporter, the subterfuge was hardly necessary. Half of those I approached took one look at me and guessed I was there about the chupacabra. Even when I thought it prudent not to mention my supposed newspaper affiliation, they still talked to me, seeming to assume I was on some sort of cultural pilgrimage.
Speaking to the farmers, I got the distinct impression that the attacks brought more benefit than harm. Rather like crop circles. As annoyed as they may have been to lose their livestock, the loss was relatively minor and their subsequent fame more than adequately compensated for it.
The first “victims”—a young couple running an organic goat farm—had used the interest to promote their struggling enterprise. One farmer, a widower, now had a freezer stocked with sympathy cakes and casseroles. Another family’s refrigerator was covered in articles, their names highlighted in each. The fourth’s enterprising preteen children had preserved their goat’s corpse as a science fair project, and charged area youths a dollar to see it.
As one farmer put it, “To be honest, son, this chupacabra is the most exciting thing to hit Middleton since the kids won the state football championship in ’99.”
One person who would doubtless disagree was Billy Arnell.
I didn’t get the opportunity to speak to the widow herself. I was met at the door and told she was tired of talking to reporters and asked to be left alone to grieve. I couldn’t say I blamed her.
Arnell’s coworkers were more inclined to talk. According to everyone I spoke to, Billy Arnell was an “all-round great guy.” A fine epigraph, but not terribly useful in a murder investigation.
I’LL BE DONE WITH EXAMS ON THE SIXTEENTH,” Bryce said. “Then I’ll fly home the next day. You guys haven’t given away my office yet, I hope.”
Sean laughed and leaned back in his office chair. “Never. You know how Granddad is. We get our name on an office door at sixteen and it’s ours for life, whether we want it or not.”
Silence. Sean wondered whether he’d injected more frustration into that statement than he meant to.
“Not even going to ask how my exams are going, are you?” Bryce said. “You don’t dare.”
Sean winced. There was no right way to handle Bryce’s school situation. Ask how it was going, and Bryce would get short-tempered and defensive. Don’t ask, and it sounded as if Sean knew he wasn’t doing well and didn’t expect that to change. Bryce was a smart enough kid, but he had no head for, or interest in, political science. His chances of getting into law school dimmed with each passing semester.
“Sorry,” Sean said. “I’ve been preoccupied. Some internal problems here.”
“Nothing you can’t handle, though, right? You’re the golden boy. Going to make VP by Christmas. I’d lay bets on it.”
Again Sean hesitated, replaying Bryce’s voice, assessing his tone. Were the sentiments spoken with brotherly pride? Sibling envy? Or simply a statement of fact? Any of the three were equally possible.
Bryce had always been a difficult one. No, Sean thought with a smile; the “challenging” one, as Dad always said. Since their father’s death, Bryce’s moods had grown more volatile, fueled by the frustration of failing at a career path Bryce was convinced their father would have wanted for him.
They talked for a few more minutes, making plans for Bryce’s summer at home. When Sean hung up, he heard Bryce’s words again. The golden boy. Already on the path to VP. Did he want either distinction? Not particularly. He worked hard because that’s how he’d been raised—to do a job to the best of your ability. But if he didn’t care about making VP anytime soon, if at all, wasn’t that all the more reason to come out? To show Bryce that he was far from the perfect CEO son?
But how could he help Bryce find his place in the Cabal if he no longer had one?
Oh, come on. Do you really think they’ll kick you out for being gay? Lose their golden boy?
Honestly, he had no idea what would happen. The few Cabal sons he’d heard of who had declared their homosexuality had been disowned.
His grandfather doted on him, but the old man had immovable views on right and wrong. His treatment of Savannah proved that. He’d lost his eldest son, yet refused to take any solace in the discovery of a new grandchild. He would even allow her to be raised by his rival’s son. All because she was a witch.
The thought of Savannah, and by extension, Lucas, made Sean’s gut twist. There was no disguising that act as common sense. He had been a coward. Pawning off his problem on someone else, pulling out his checkbook to solve it, preying on his target’s sense of moral decency and need of money.
Worse, he’d done it to someone he liked. He didn’t fully understand what drove Lucas. The Cabals could be corrupt, but wasn’t corruption best fought from within? Without leaving the family? Whatever his feelings about Lucas’s life choices, though, he’d had no right to take advantage of them.
A lousy thing to do.
A cowardly thing to do.
Was this what living a lie would mean? Not just deflecting questions about his love life and avoiding blind dates, but turning into the kind of man who had to sneak into gay bars on business trips, then pay off friends to cover it up when things went wrong?
A tap at the door. Without waiting for a response, his Uncle Josef popped his head in.
“Sean? We need you in the boardroom.”
“Come in, Sean,” his grandfather said, waving to the empty seat to his left.
Sean stepped inside and closed the door as his uncle returned to his chair at his grandfather’s right—Sean’s father’s old seat.
Sean surreptitiously scanned the table as he crossed the room, seeing his grandfather, both of his uncles, the head of security, and his second-in-command, plus the AVP of special accounting. It must be a security issue, then, something requiring budget considerations.
“We’re hoping you can help us with something, Sean,” his grandfather said. “You were in Tacoma last Friday, meeting with the investors for the Domtar project.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then perhaps you can tell us more about this.”
His grandfather opened a folder and passed it over. It was a file of newspaper clippings. The top one was from a Seattle tabloid. Sean read it.
“Chupacabra Attack in Middleton?”
THERE WASN’T A TRUE CORONER’S OFFICE, PER se, simply Dr. Bailey’s regular office in the county hospital. When I asked to speak to him, I expected to be told that he, like Ms. Arnell, had done enough press conferences. The nurse did give me a “not another one” look, but told me to go downstairs to the morgue, speak to the attendant there, and Dr. Bailey would be with me momentarily.
I found the morgue attendant—Greg Regis, according to his name tag—sitting at his desk reading a medical journal.
When I announced myself, he pushed reluctantly from his seat.
“I expect you’ve seen more than your share of journalists these past few days,” I said as he led me down the hall.
“Oh, yeah. Doc’s in his glory. Biggest case of his career.”
He ushered me into what looked like the actual morgue. An odd place to entertain reporters, and uncomfortably chilly, but if the coroner was enjoying the attention, I supposed he liked some theatrics to go with it.
“Guess you want to see the photos,” Regis said.
“If I can. I’d love to see the body itself, but I imagine that’s out of the question.”
Regis shrugged. “Me, I wouldn’t care, but the widow’s already claimed it.”
He pulled out a folder and opened it to the photos. I examined them, comparing the corpse’s condition with the research I’d done into exsanguination. As a cause of death, exsanguination simply means that enough blood was lost to cause death. What I saw supported that conclusion.
Close-ups of Arnell’s throat showed two holes. Both in the jugular. Both more like tears than a vampire’s precise fang pierces. Yet, on closer examination, the tops of the holes appeared neatly made, with the tears at the bottom, as if fangs—or some instrument—had perforated the jugular, then ripped down to make the tears.
There were any number of explanations. A vampire disturbed from his feeding, ripping and accidentally leaving his meal to die. A vampire covering up a victim, making it look like an animal or chupacabra attack. Someone with little knowledge of true vampires staging an attack.
“Cops are trying to say some guy did it.” Regis gave a derisive snort. “Those look like anything a person could do? They’re clearly animal bites.”
“And Dr. Bailey agrees?”
“Said they look like animal bites to him. Took molds and shipped them off to a lab.”
I considered how to best phrase my next question, without sounding either incredulous or mocking. Finally, I went with the simple, emotionless “Chupacabra?”
Regis shrugged. “Why not?” His gaze met mine, defiant and defensive. “Maybe it’s just a real animal, something that lived deep in the jungles and only came out when they started clear-cutting, taking away its habitat. I’ve heard of things like that happening.”
“That would make sense.”
Regis relaxed. “It would, wouldn’t it? These things originate in Latin America, then catch a ride on the rails. Happens all the time with other animals. Why not these?”
I could point out that no rendering of the chupacabra gave it opposable thumbs, therefore making it impossible for any such beast to open two doors and dump Billy Arnell in a storage room. But if Regis thought he had a convert for his theory, then I had a valuable contact in the coroner’s office.
Dr. Bailey arrived soon after. As Regis had said, the man was clearly “in his glory,” puffed up with self-importance, spelling his name three times to make sure I got it right. On the subject of Billy Arnell, he was far less helpful—though, I suspected, not for lack of enthusiasm.
Death by exsanguination. Presumably caused by the neck injuries. The exact cause of those injuries was still under investigation. He wasn’t ruling out an animal attack, but neither was he ruling out murder, suicide, or even accident. In other words, while Dr. Bailey liked having his name in the paper, he had enough pride and common sense not to make himself look a fool by speculating.
Unable to provide very much medical information made him quite willing to answer questions about evidence that a more experienced coroner would have told me to get from the investigators and crime scene. The drained blood had not been found at or near the crime scene. No spilled blood had been found, and evidence indicated that Arnell had been moved postmortem. No defensive wounds. That could suggest a sedative. Toxicology screens were being run. Time of death indicated he’d been killed the same evening he’d been discovered. The wounds were similar to those found on the animals, but that was also pending laboratory confirmation.
Before I left, he offered me a photograph of himself. I accepted it and slid it into my briefcase, alongside the picture of Arnell’s wounds I’d pilfered from the file.
When I left the coroner’s office, it was nearing five. I called Paige. She answered on the second ring, slightly breathless.
“Done yet?” she asked, before I could say a word.
“No, I believe I have a few more hours’ work here, which was why I was phoning. I will attempt to arrive before midnight, to conduct the break-in if required, but you should make plans for a lengthy stakeout with Cassandra.”
She let out a curse. Then, after a moment of silence, she said, “That’s not funny.”
“I couldn’t resist.”
“So are you on your way?”
“Do you want me to be?”
“What do you think?”
“Hmm, it’s difficult to tell. Perhaps we should discuss this further, discover exactly how much you want me there, what you’re willing to do to get me there …”
“Three hours until dark, Cortez. Then I’m breaking in, with or without you.”
“Ah, in that case …”
“You’re on your way?”
“I am.”
I stopped in the local copy shop first and faxed Arnell’s autopsy photograph to a contact—a former Cabal forensics expert whom I’d helped leave the organization after a dispute with his employers. A common case, the sort I handle with disturbing frequency. When a Cabal employee balks at doing something that violates his professional code of ethics, he’s reminded that his job is at stake. Then if he decides to quit, he discovers that’s not as easy as it might seem. For someone like me, who knows the inner workings of Cabal structure better than any employee, it’s an easy enough matter to resolve, but it earns me enough gratitude to have a contact for life.
Minutes before I arrived, Paige phoned back to say Geddes had come home.
“Do you want us to wait for you?” she asked.
“Yes, but only as backup. Having me accompany—”
I stopped as I heard Cassandra’s voice in the background.
“Cassandra thinks you should come with us,” Paige said. “Geddes isn’t likely to know who you are, so that isn’t a problem. With the older vampires, sometimes they’ll take a message more seriously if a man delivers it.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Paige and I stood on Geddes’s porch, Cassandra behind us. I rang the bell. The door opened. A man stood there. Early forties, with dark hair graying at the temples. He wore slacks and a dress shirt, tie discarded, top buttons open, brandy snifter in one hand, looking like any other businessman after a long day.
With the storm door still shut, he surveyed us. His gaze fell to our hands, looking there for an explanation—a briefcase, sales folder, charity envelope, or petition.
“We should’ve brought our Bibles again,” Paige murmured.
“Mr. Geddes?” I said, raising my voice to be heard through the screen door. “Spencer Geddes?”
“Yeah.”
“We’d like to speak to you.”
“Not interested.”
He started closing the door.
“We aren’t selling—” I began.
“Actually, we are,” Paige said, flashing her most winning smile.
Geddes stopped, door half closed, gaze on her, wary but curious.
“We’re offering anti-Cabal insurance,” she continued. “We believe you may be in need of it, and we’re here to offer it at no cost or obligation to you.”
Geddes’s gaze turned cold. “Not interested.”
“I think you will be, if you’ll just hear us out—”
“I don’t care what the fuck you’re selling, little girl. Get off my goddamn porch.”
I bristled, but Paige’s fingers wrapped around my forearm.
Cassandra stepped in front of us, her gaze out-freezing Geddes’s. “My name is Cassandra DuCharme. I am your interracial council delegate—”
“I don’t care if you’re fucking queen of Sheba. I said, get off my porch.”
“As your delegate, it is my responsibility—”
Geddes leaned into the storm door, nose touching the screen. “You are not my delegate for anything, Ms. DuCharme. I didn’t elect you. I don’t want any part of your ‘responsibilities’ or your protection or your goddamn community barbecues. Is that clear?”
“So you wish to be left alone?”
“Got that impression, did you?”
“I’m simply clarifying, for the record, that you do not wish any information we may have regarding a potential problem, or any warning—”
Geddes slammed the door.
Cassandra turned to Paige. “And you thought I was difficult.”
“Yeah,” Aaron said, after Cassandra passed me her cell phone. “As much as I think this asshole is making a very big mistake, I gotta go with Cass on this one. He doesn’t want our help? Fuck him.”
“That would be my sentiment as well,” I said. “However, what Paige and I need at this point is your and Cassandra’s blessing, in light of Geddes’s behavior, to pursue him as a possible suspect. If he’s responsible for this death, then it’s a matter for the council.”
“Hell, yes. Vamps want an ombudsman? I’m here. They want someone to hide behind when they screw up and leave bodies lying around? They got the wrong guy. If it turns out he’s your killer, Cass and I will take over through the council.”
Twenty minutes later, Cassandra was driving back to Portland. She’d offered to stay with Savannah overnight while Paige and I staked out Geddes’s house. Our visit may have been just the impetus he needed to run, fleeing justice, fleeing persecution…or stepping out to hide the evidence.
It was almost midnight and Geddes hadn’t left his house. Paige and I had spent the evening talking about the case. Even just lobbing ideas back and forth was gratifying in a way I would never have imagined before I met Paige.
I’d always been a loner. Even in childhood, while I always had playmates, I’d had few true friends. I wasn’t antisocial or unfriendly, but I’d never been comfortable allowing anyone more intimate access to my life. Then I met Paige and found myself not only willing to open up and share my life, but eager to.
I didn’t need her at my side every waking moment—we were both too independent for that. But having someone I could talk to about a case, bounce around theories, debate motivations and courses of action? Having that person be just as passionate about it as I was? It was something I’d never dared hope for.
As we talked, she was more animated than she ever was talking about Web site programming, however much she enjoyed her job. It was like legal work with me. I enjoy it well enough, but it is a means to an end—for me, access to the cases I love and the legal know-how often needed to resolve them. But a life of nothing but law? I couldn’t imagine it. Paige knew that. When I’d suggested significantly increasing my legal work, even taking a job with a firm, she’d vetoed the idea. Yet she too needed more, and being here on this case together, seeing her excitement, only proved that.
By midnight, we were running out of steam and Paige was doing more yawning than talking.
“Crawl into the back,” I said. “We can take turns napping.”
“Let’s give it another hour first. This might be just the time he’ll leave, when the neighborhood quiets down for the night.”
As she rolled down her window more to get some cool air, I said, “Shall we play a game to pass the time?”
“Such as…?”
“I was thinking Hangman. Unoriginal, I know, but with only a paper and pen, I’m at a loss for anything more interesting. However, I’m certain we could overcome that problem by laying wagers on the outcome.”
She grinned. “Like the winner gets the last bottle of water?”
“That’s one possibility, though I was hoping you might be amenable to satisfying something other than thirst.”
“Winner’s choice?”
I considered the possibilities. “The stakes, I believe, should be implicit in the solution of the puzzle, though not necessarily explicitly so. The winner, then, receives the appropriate prize.”
“You’re on.”
She grabbed a pen and paper from the back.
Paige created the first puzzle.
I won it.
Five minutes after my victory, as I was relishing my reward, I noticed a movement near Geddes’s house, a dark shadow moving against the darker backdrop. Not being particularly eager to interrupt Paige for what might well be a neighbor’s pet, I squinted to watch it. Even when I saw a flicker of light—a flashlight beam swiftly doused—I told myself the matter was not urgent and could wait a few minutes…perhaps longer.
I must have conveyed my mild distraction to Paige, though, and she lifted her head from my lap with a murmured “See something?”
When I hesitated, she sat up and peered out my window.
“It looks like Geddes is sneaking out.”
“Unfortunately,” I sighed.
“Guess that wasn’t the wisest idea,” she said as she zipped my pants. “Too distracting a distraction.”
“Rendering me somewhat disinclined to react promptly to an outside concern.”
“Somewhat?”
“My apologies. The correct word choice would be significantly.”
“Somewhat is fine,” she said, smiling, as she slid out of the car. “It only means I’ll need to practice more to perfect my technique.”
While I could argue most vehemently that her diagnosis was incorrect, it would be foolish of me to dissuade her from pursuing her solution. As she walked around the front of the car, I gave myself a moment to refocus on the task at hand. She motioned that she’d start heading over to Geddes’s, and I watched her go, her hips swaying, sweater tight around the generous curve of her breasts…which wasn’t helping me refocus at all.
I allowed myself a moment longer to watch her, while reminding myself that we’d be able to pick up where we’d left off, in the more spacious and comfortable surroundings of a hotel room. Then I tore my gaze away and opened my door.
The houses were on large lots made private by wooden fences and fast-growing evergreens. The fences made sneaking through backyards impossible, so we settled for the road, affecting the only disguise we could: a couple out for a late-night walk. When we drew close enough to Geddes’s house to be spotted, we slipped into the shadow of an SUV parked at the side of the road.
“His car is still there,” Paige whispered. “And there’s no sign of anyone in the yard.”
I motioned for her to stay down as I peered out. A faint, flickering glow shone from between Geddes’s drawn curtains. A television.
A movement alongside his car caught my attention. A figure was huddled there, watching the house, hands and face dark. Camouflaged. As he lifted something to his lips, I pulled back.
“Cabal SWAT team,” I whispered.
Paige let out a curse.
“Our options are limited,” I said. “It’s too late to get to the house and warn him—”
She lifted her cell phone. I nodded and she crept up the front yard of the neighboring house. I covered her retreat, then followed.
She’d found a spot behind a cedar and was already dialing as I approached.
“Mr. Geddes,” she said, keeping her voice low. “This is Paige Winterbourne. I came by today with Cassandra DuCharme—”
Even three feet away, I heard the line disconnect. Paige looked at me, eyes fuming. I reached for her phone and pressed redial.
The answering machine picked up on the first ring.
“Mr. Geddes,” I said. “Evidently either you believe we’re lying or the Cabals don’t frighten you. If it’s the latter, then all I can say—most respectfully—is that you are a fool. If it’s the former, I’d suggest you confirm the situation by looking out your window, to the right of your vehicle, where you will see an armed Cabal security officer approaching your home. You may be aware of a death Friday night in Middleton, where a man was found drained of blood with bite marks in his neck.”
A click. Then a cold “I didn’t do that.”
“Perhaps, but—”
“And I’m not going to run and look as if I’m guilty.”
“Under normal circumstances, that might be judicious. But the Cabal most likely to be staking out your house is the Nasts. Their CEO, Thomas Nast, lost a teenage grandson to a vampire two years ago. Edward Hagen. Perhaps you heard of the case?”
Geddes let out a string of curses, many in languages other than English.
“I don’t want to run,” he repeated.
“And you won’t—for long. Our primary objective at this moment is to transfer control of your defense—”
“Defense? I haven’t done anything.”
“And the best people to prove that are the delegates of the interracial council. First, though, we need you out of the house.”
I instructed him to slip out the back, make his way out of the suburbs, then call us. As soon as I finished, he hung up.
“Was that a yes?” Paige whispered.
“I hope so.”
Once we’d given Geddes the opportunity to escape, it was time for me to do what, according to many, I did best: interfere.
I told Paige to stay behind. A simple matter of safety, which she understood. My immunity did not extend to her.
As I crossed the road, it would appear that my stride was determined, my chin high, my confidence unwavering. A necessary facade for pulling off such a delicate act of faith. Striding into the midst of a Cabal takedown operation, I could be shot by any new Cabal employee who didn’t recognize me. I could even be shot by an employee who did, but decided that the darkness would excuse accidentally killing me…and claiming the quiet gratitude of his employers. The surest way to stay a Cabal security officer’s hand on his weapon was to look and act as if I had every right to be there, and had every confidence that if any harm came to me, my father’s retaliation would be swift and merciless.
As I walked toward the dark figure crouched by the side door, the man turned, tensing. Then he straightened, like a soldier snapping to attention. Still walking, I dropped my gaze to his outfit. It bore no insignia—a secret ops team is hardly going to announce its affiliation—but I knew Cabal uniforms well enough to identify the design. This wasn’t the Nast Cabal’s SWAT team. It was my father’s.
I ENTERED THE HOUSE THROUGH THE REAR door, which the team had already discovered unlocked and had used to infiltrate the house. As I canvassed the rooms to ensure Geddes had left, I gave more than one prowling team member a start. All must have been wondering what I was doing there. Yet not one asked, and I didn’t enlighten them.
I was in Geddes’s living room, thumbing through his address book, when footsteps sounded in the hall—not the heavy clomp of boots, but the slap of dress shoes. A man snapped an order. At the sound of the voice, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. But I kept my gaze on the book, perusing the endless client numbers. The doorway darkened as a figure filled it. He walked into the middle of the room, the heat of his rage palpable.
“Hello, Hector,” I said.
My oldest half brother, twenty years my senior and the only one of the three whom I can say with honesty that I fear. The youngest, Carlos, had inherited his mother’s cruel streak, but none of our father’s intelligence. The middle one, William, sadly received neither, and little to compensate for the lack. Only in Hector did both traits coincide—venom plus the mental capacity to use it to its fullest advantage.
Hector called to a SWAT team member in the hall. “Get Stanton in here.”
“The team leader is Gus Reichs,” I said mildly. Then I looked at the security officer. “I believe you’ll find him on the upper level.”
“Yes, sir.”
Moments later, the young officer returned with Reichs, who paused in the doorway, his gaze going from Hector to me, uncertain whom to address.
I greeted him, then said, “Hector wished to speak to you.”
“We’ve searched the house, sir,” Reichs began. “But there’s no sign of—”
“Of course there isn’t,” Hector snapped. “If he’s here”—A thumb jerked my way—“then the vampire isn’t. Lucas is stalling us, giving his client time to escape.”
“Spencer Geddes is not my client.” I picked up Geddes’s Day-Timer. “However, as the actions for which he is being investigated in no way affect Cabal business, they are a matter for the interracial council, not the Cabal.”
“He murdered—”
“Not a Cabal employee or even a supernatural. And if it was his required annual kill, it does not, according to the statutes, constitute murder, however much we may argue the point. Instead this would be considered improper body disposal, which is a council concern.”
As I spoke, I leafed through Geddes’s planner. Distancing myself from the argument. My usual approach to dealing with Hector.
“Find the vampire,” Hector said to Reichs, “and place him in Cortez Cabal custody.”
Reichs glanced my way, waiting. Hector’s eyes glittered, his blood pressure rising.
“Hector has given the order,” I said, “but please exercise restraint in the capture. I was the one who told Mr. Geddes to run.”
“Since when do you approve my orders, Lucas?” Hector said as Reichs left.
“I didn’t. I was merely clarifying the situation, so the team doesn’t blame Geddes for fleeing.”
I returned my attention to the planner. Hector strode over and plucked it from my hands.
“Don’t you ever give an order to my employees after I’ve already done so.”
“I apologize. I assure you, my intention was not—”
“Your intention was to make a fool of me. Don’t make it worse with your pompous apologies.”
I hoped I didn’t flush, but turned my face away, just in case. “If that officer looked to me for verification of the order, that is not my fault. I wish you’d place the blame where it belongs—on the man who created the situation.”
“You’re pathetic. You manipulate Father into making you his heir, then blame him for it.”
“If you’ll excuse me—”
Hector wrapped his fingers around my forearm. “No, I don’t excuse you. For anything. But speaking of excuses, you’ve set up a nice one for me here. Barging in on a takedown. The perfect excuse for a tragic accident.”
I caught a flicker and looked past Hector to see Paige in the doorway, lips moving in a binding spell. I gave a small shake of my head. She stopped casting, but hovered there, watching Hector.
I took out my cell phone.
“Let me guess,” Hector said. “Time to call Father. Tell him you’re being bullied again.”
Even from the earliest threats in childhood, I’d never complained to my father about any of my half brothers. But there was no sense pointing that out. Hector had created his own version of reality to explain why our father favored the son who was arguably least worthy of the honor. Nothing I could ever say would change Hector’s mind.
My father answered his cell phone and I explained the situation as succinctly as I could.
“And, as such,” I concluded, “it does not fall within Cabal judicial jurisdiction, which is why I’m here to assist Paige in investigating the matter for the interracial council.”
At that moment, an officer hurried in to tell us that Geddes had been apprehended.
“This is a matter for the council,” I repeated.
My father agreed that there was some “possible” basis for the claim, and that it would be “considered.” I didn’t push the matter. Even Paige, stepping from her hiding spot, gave me a reluctant nod when I looked her way.
The council had abdicated its rights in such matters, if not in theory, at least in practice. For decades they had bowed to Cabal claims, however spurious. Knowing they lacked the numbers to fight, they’d concentrated their efforts elsewhere. Paige, Adam, and the other delegates were trying to change that now, but it was not a battle that could be won in this moment.
“I’ll meet with you and Paige as soon as you arrive in Miami,” my father said. “The jet is—”
“Paige and I would prefer to remain close to the scene of the investigation, and I’m sure Mr. Geddes does not wish to serve his incarceration on the opposite side of the country.”
“Understood, but the Seattle satellite office isn’t equipped to hold a prisoner. The nearest one that has a proper cell is in Chicago.”
“Oh? There’s nothing…closer?”
My father paused. “Well, there is the office in Phoenix—”
“What about Portland? Or are the security cells there still undergoing construction?”
A longer pause. Then, “I can explain—”
“I’m quite certain you can, and very convincingly. However, it’s growing late and we have a long drive ahead of us. If there are cells in that office, that is where I’d like Mr. Geddes to be taken. Please have someone e-mail directions to me, and Paige and I will meet the team at the office.”
I hung up before he could answer.
“Maybe this isn’t the place,” Paige said.
We stood in front of a small warehouse that appeared to be in the last stages of a renovation. From the exterior, it was difficult to tell what it was being converted into—there were no signs, not even one advertising the construction company. Yet I knew once we passed through those main doors that we’d find ourselves in a Cabal satellite office. There was no mistaking the structure.
“I don’t get it,” Paige continued. “Construction has obviously progressed far enough to have a holding cell ready, but your father told Adam they hadn’t even decided whether they were going forward.”
“A useful fiction. If Adam knew the offices were almost complete, and my father still didn’t want me to know …”
“He’d smell trouble and tell us.”
“Mr. Cortez!”
I turned to see a small, balding man hurrying down the sidewalk. Hector and his bodyguard followed at a distance.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the man said. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“Not at all. And I apologize for getting you from bed to let us in.” I extended my hand. “Chris Ibsen, isn’t it? I believe we met a couple of years ago. In New York, when you were supervising the renovations to the offices there.”
Ibsen beamed, as if I paid him an enormous compliment simply by remembering who he was.
“And this is my wife,” I began. “Paige—”
“Mrs. Cortez,” he said, taking her hand between his. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“She is not a Cortez,” Hector said as he rounded the street corner.
“Hector is correct,” I said. “My wife kept her maiden name, Winterbourne.”
“Paige is fine,” she said with a wide smile. Then she turned to Hector. “Has Mr. Geddes arrived yet?”
For a moment, Hector said nothing. Paige rolled her eyes at me.
“He’s being brought in through the rear,” Hector said finally, though he addressed his answer to me.
Ibsen unlocked the door and escorted us inside. As he walked through the lobby, he explained the layout and the progress of construction. Paige hung back a few paces while she phoned Cassandra, to tell her that Geddes had arrived in case she wanted to join us.
I slowed, ensuring she didn’t fall too far behind, and kept an eye on Hector as he drifted to the side with his bodyguard. Harming Paige in front of witnesses would be too bold a move for Hector, but that didn’t keep me from watching.
As we walked, Ibsen sought my input and approval on everything, as if this was vitally important. When I’d first taken Paige to the Cabal head office in Miami, I’d watched her reaction, that mix of amazement and amusement as everyone in my path tripped over themselves to greet me.
“Sure, you’re the boss’s son,” she’d said to me later. “And they think you’ll be the next boss, but come on—it’s an employer, not a king. I don’t even think kings get that treatment anymore…not outside of tiny despot kingdoms.” And that, I told her, was quite possibly the best analogy for a Cabal—a tiny despot kingdom.
Unlike modern companies, where employees were loyal only as long as it behooved them to be so, Cabals were, in most cases, life employment. Certainly that was the goal—to work for the Cabal all your life, the same one your father worked for, the same one your children would work for.
Most employees were an integral part of the entire Cortez Cabal community. Some, particularly half-demons, had weaker ties—lacking that hereditary link—and they would move from Cabal to Cabal chasing better opportunities. But a man like Ibsen had grown up in the organization. From the earliest age, he’d socialized with other supernatural Cabal children—went to the same schools, joined the company ball team, used the company’s private doctors, dentists, hospitals. He’d married within the organization. His children were now growing up in that same community.
For Ibsen, being a supernatural had never been a disadvantage. Every complication was resolved simply by being part of the tiny despot kingdom that was the Cortez Cabal.
In return, the Cabal had his complete loyalty. Why wouldn’t they? He didn’t know how to survive in the human world; he’d be lost the moment his child needed a doctor who could treat supernaturals.
Can one blame him, then, for kowtowing to the man he believed would be the next ruler of his kingdom? I might hate the lie—and the reminder of the power Cabals wielded—but I could not blame him, so I had to accept his obeisance with grace.
As we approached the elevator, I motioned for Ibsen to wait until Paige joined us. Once she did, he pushed the button.
“The day-care facilities are on the second floor with the executive offices,” Ibsen said. “We debated that. Would it create too much disturbance? Or would it be an advantage, having one’s children close enough to visit? Your father and I decided good soundproofing would resolve any noise issues. I was hoping to have your input, but your father didn’t want you bothered. If you’d prefer to move the day-care, we can still do that.”
Paige gave me a quizzical look, wondering why my input mattered, but I was accustomed to this. My father often found ways to “consult” me on office renovations, doing so under the guise of simply valuing my opinion.
When I’d met Ibsen working on the New York offices, Paige and I had supposedly been enjoying a mini–New York vacation, courtesy of my father. Then he just happened to be in New York at the same time and, after softening me up by treating us to box seats at a Broadway show Paige had wanted to see, he’d “had to make a stop” at the office renovation on the way back to our hotel.
While there, naturally, he’d had to take us on a tour, then take me aside to meet Ibsen and discuss the design. My father had no plans to retire anytime soon—this was just his way of reminding everyone that they’d be answering to me someday. “Someday” as in “when hell freezes over,” but if I said so, I’m sure he’d find a way to accomplish that as well.
“The security cell is in the basement,” Ibsen said as he ushered us into the elevator. Hector and his bodyguard headed to the stairs. “It’s just a single cell, but that seemed adequate, under the circumstances.”
He pressed the button, not for the basement, but for the second floor.
“While you’re here, I want to ask a few questions about the executive suites.”
“We really should see to Mr. Geddes,” I began.
“It’ll only take a moment, sir.”
Once off the elevator, he led us to the main office at the end. It was still under construction and we had to pick our way through the debris.
As I stepped inside, Paige murmured, “This is an office? It’s huge.”
Ibsen chuckled. “As befits the top executive. Or, I should say, executives. That brings up my main question. According to the plans, it’s a single office with a partial divider severing the space into two equal areas. Conjoined offices, so to speak. Is that what you want? Or would you prefer completely separate spaces, perhaps with a joint sitting room?”
“Conjoined offices?” I said. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Chris. My father hasn’t briefed me on the management arrangements.”
Now it was Ibsen’s turn to look perplexed. “Perhaps you want to think about it, then, sir? Discuss it with your wife.” He nodded to Paige. “Mr. Cortez did say you two like to work together, but this might be closer than you want.”
“Closer…?” Paige looked around, then asked with trepidation, “Whose office is this?”
Ibsen laughed. “Yours, of course. For the two of you. It is your operation, after all. A new division for the Cortez Corporation, and I can’t tell you how excited I am to be a part of it.”
AS WE HEADED TO THE ELEVATOR, LEAVING Ibsen behind, I struggled to forget what he’d said. More of my father’s manipulation and delusions, thinking he could tempt me with my own satellite office…comanaged with my wife.
“We should hurry,” Paige murmured. “I don’t like leaving Hector alone down there with our vampire.”
Her words started me out of my thoughts and that, I knew, was their purpose. But I played along. Anything to steer my mind onto another course.
“There’s little danger,” I said. “Yes, killing Geddes would be a nose-thumbing ‘screw you’ in the face of my efforts to protect him. If it was Carlos down there, I’d be worried. But Hector would never lower himself to such a crude ploy. He’ll want to battle me on this matter through the appropriate channels.”
As I reached for the elevator button, Paige shook her head. “Your dad won’t allow it. I’d be surprised if he hasn’t recalled Hector to Miami already.”
I glanced at her.
“Do you think he sent Hector to Seattle knowing you were on this case?” she asked as we stepped onto the elevator. “Never. Whatever set him onto Geddes, his motivation wasn’t to head you off at the pass. If that was the case, Hector wouldn’t have been there.”
She was right. While I’d learned not to commit the cardinal sin of underestimating my father’s gift for manipulation, that did not extend to putting his eldest and youngest son at odds to see who would triumph. When Paige and I had been chasing Edward in Miami, Hector had been ordered to stay in New York on business. My father wouldn’t send Hector to Seattle knowing I was also pursuing Geddes. It was an error that would be rectified with a speedy recall to Miami. I won’t say I wasn’t relieved.
Cassandra arrived before we made it downstairs. We introduced her simply as “a council member” and no one inquired further. Hector was in an office, taking a call from my father, but had left orders with Kepler—the young officer I’d first met at Geddes’s house. Kepler was to escort us downstairs.
“We didn’t try to sedate him, sir,” Kepler said as we reached the basement. “We weren’t sure that would work when, you know …” A faint shudder. “The guy’s already dead.”
“He’s not dead,” Cassandra said.
“Undead, then.”
“Vampirism is simply another state of consciousness,” she said. “You will find that vampires do not appreciate being called—” Her lips twisted. “Undead.”
“Aaron doesn’t mind,” Paige murmured. “He uses it himself.”
We stopped before a steel door. The security pad wasn’t connected yet, but Reichs—the team leader—seemed to be working on changing that.
“How is Mr. Geddes?” I asked.
Reichs grunted and pulled at a wire. “Behaving himself, sir. He’s an arrogant SOB, but he hasn’t fought. And hasn’t tried to eat anyone yet.”
“Feed,” Cassandra said. “Vampires do not eat anyone, they feed off their blood.”
“Like giant mosquitoes,” Reichs said. “Parasites.”
He wiped sweat from his brow as he pulled back to look at the panel wiring. “No offense to the council”—a nod to Paige—“but after that business with those psycho vamps killing kids? You gotta start thinking the St. Clouds’ proposal might not be such a bad idea.” He jerked his thumb toward the security ward. “We can start with this one.”
“St. Cloud—?” Cassandra began.
“One of the Cabals,” I said, quickly ushering her past. “The second smallest one.”
“I know who the St. Clouds are—”
“Is he in there?” I asked Kepler, pointing to a steel door with a small window.
“Yes, sir. It’s not locked—we’re still working on that—but he’s in a cell inside. Would you like me to go with you?”
“No, thank you.”
As I pushed open the door, Cassandra passed Paige to get up beside me.
“What is the St. Cloud proposal, Lucas?” she demanded.
“I have no idea. But I suspect we’ll find out soon.”
“You!” Geddes roared the moment we stepped inside. He gripped the bars of his cell, glaring at me like a Rikers Island lifer. “You double-crossing—”
“I double-crossed no one,” I said calmly. “I’d hoped you’d be able to outrun them—”
“Bullshit! You’re not some pesky council do-gooder. You’re a Cortez. Benicio Cortez’s heir, no less, they tell me.”
“I’m a Cortez, yes. And Benicio’s son. But as for his heir…I fear that’s a misunderstanding between my father and myself. I can assure you that I do not work for any Cabal—”
“Bullshit. You’re a Cabal brat—”
Cassandra cut in. “And that is the reason you are here, Spencer. Incarcerated, but relatively safe, and speaking to council representatives instead of a Cabal interrogator. The only way you’re getting out of that cell with your head attached to your shoulders is if Lucas and Paige solve this crime before the Cabals invent evidence against you.”
“I didn’t—”
“Before you disavow the crime, consider that if you did leave that body there, you might want to admit it and be turned over to the council for a reprimand. Better that than to deny it and see what other charges the Cabals can bring against you.”
“I didn’t—”
“Perhaps it was simply an error in timing or judgment. In making your annual kill, you were surprised before you could dispose of the body.”
Geddes crossed the cell and sat on the cot. He rubbed his hands over his face as if taking a moment to rein in his temper. “No. My rebirth date is in January and this year I took a homeless person in Seattle, as I have since I emigrated.”
“How long have you been a vampire?”
“Almost fifty years.”
Her brows arched. “Young, then. Perhaps this was a feeding accident. You took too much. It happens, particularly with new vampires—”
“I’m not that new. I know how to feed.”
“Another sort of feeding accident, then. He had an affliction, anemia or—”
“I only hunt in Seattle. I’ve never even been to …”
“Middleton,” I said.
“Wherever.”
Cassandra walked along the front of the cell, her hand sliding across the bars. “Then perhaps not a mistake at all. You didn’t want to speak to us earlier. You didn’t want to run when Lucas warned you. Could that have been more than common stubbornness?”
“What are you driving at, woman? Suicide by Cabal?”
She pursed her lips. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“Well, don’t. I’d find a sharp wire and decapitate myself before I’d let a Cabal do the job for me.”
“Given this some thought, I see,” she said.
He met her gaze. “Haven’t we all?”
“No,” she murmured. “However, what I was thinking was perhaps that in killing this man you were hoping to force the Cabals to react. To bring to a boil what has been simmering for two years now.”
Geddes barked a laugh. “Offer myself up to the Cabals to force their hand on behalf of the vampire community? You want political statements, you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“That,” I said, “I suspect is true. As for whether the Cabals will realize it is another matter.”
It was almost dawn by the time we returned upstairs. Cassandra had stayed behind with Geddes, hoping he might be more forthcoming in the company of his own race. I doubted it, but appreciated the effort. Cassandra had clearly resolved to put her full efforts into acting as Geddes’s council advocate. I knew this pleased Paige.
As for Hector, he was already at the airport, awaiting my father’s jet so he could return to Miami. We learned of his leave-taking only upon inquiring. The official reason for his departure was that in light of our father’s imminent arrival here, Hector was needed to head operations in Miami.
We left the Cabal office before my father arrived. Had we stayed to demand an explanation about the offices, I suspected neither Paige nor I would later be in any mood to concentrate on an investigation.
When Cassandra finished with Geddes, she would return to our house to see Savannah off to school. Then she would meet with my father later to discuss Spencer Geddes. They’d worked together before, negotiating an uneasy truce between the Cabals and the vampires after the Edward and Natasha case. I had few qualms about leaving them together. They were evenly matched, and would, I was certain, come to an agreement regarding Geddes’s incarceration with a minimum of bloodshed.
An hour after we left, Paige roused herself from a nap, stretching in the passenger seat.
“Pull over at the next off-ramp,” she said through a yawn. “I’ll drive for a while.”
“No need. I wouldn’t sleep anyway.”
I felt her gaze on me and turned to see her twisted sideways, her cheek against the seat as she watched me.
“You okay?” She shook her head. “I know you’re not, but …”
“I’m just trying not to think about it until I have the time to get a proper explanation.”
“A good idea. Let’s go back to where we left off then. Theorizing—about the case, that is. Before Billy Arnell, this creature wasn’t really causing any grief. Well, I’m sure those dead animals would object, but you know what I mean. Those who lost livestock gained back value-plus in publicity and temporary fame. Who was first hit again?”
“Probably not the sort to kill an animal to promote their business. Maybe one of the others then.”
“Striking first at sheep farmers to deflect initial scrutiny?”
“Right. We have preteens in one family. Plus the teenager who claims he saw his cat attacked. That’s where I’d look.”
I nodded. “Teenagers take the greatest interest in supernatural phenomena, and are most likely to undertake such acts to gain attention and shock adults.”
“And prove their theory that all grown-ups are gullible fools. So we’ll start with young people attached to the case.”
We stopped at a diner just off the Middleton exit and dallied over breakfast. We had time; we couldn’t begin our investigation so early in the day.
While we lingered over coffee, my father called. I’d left a message at the Portland office, explaining that we’d returned to the investigation, but he still seemed put out that we hadn’t stayed until he’d arrived. Barring unforeseen problems, we’d be home for the night, and could speak with him then. In the meantime, he’d have Cassandra to keep him busy.
Ten minutes later I received a second call, one that suggested we might be back in Portland sooner than I thought.
“That was my contact at the Middleton Herald,” I said as I hung up.
“A break in the case?”
“Better. They’ve arrested a suspect and called a press conference for nine.”
I used my press pass to gain entrance to the conference. When Paige accompanied me into the room, no one tried to stop her.
The conference began promptly at nine with the police announcing the capture of the culprits believed responsible for the chupacabra attacks. It was a quartet of teenage boys, including the neighbor of the organic sheep farmers and the son of Billy Arnell.
“They have been charged and have confessed to the livestock attacks,” announced the detective—a woman named MacLeod. “As for the murder of William Arnell, we are continuing our investigation, but expect to lay those charges soon.”
“Against the boys?” someone asked.
“They remain our primary suspects.”
The detective steered questions back to the chupacabra attacks. Though she remained evasive on motive, a picture emerged from the pointed questions of the reporters and the detective’s responses.
Four teenage boys, all friends, bored and restless as the school year dragged on toward the tantalizing freedom of summer. One completes a school project on modern monster legends and shares it with his friends. They fantasize about how much fun it would be to stage an outbreak in Middleton.
Fantasy soon turned to challenge. Could they pull it off? They decided on the chupacabra. The first target? The neighbors who’d been involved in a groundwater dispute with one boy’s father. Sheep weren’t goats—the chupacabra’s favorite prey—but they were close enough.
“But about Billy …” said a young woman from the Middleton Herald. “Peter Arnell, one of the suspects, lived with his mother, and Billy had a history of child support payment defaults there. Is that the assumed motivation for Billy’s death? A son striking out on behalf of his mother?”
“Peter Arnell has not been charged with his father’s murder,” the detective reiterated.
Her denial didn’t matter. Throughout the room, reporters were madly scratching down the young journalist’s words. With the possibility of patricide, this case had taken a turn as exciting as the chupacabra claims.
“I don’t buy it,” Paige said as we took a booth in the coffee shop. “Sure, I’d like to believe no son would murder his father, but I’m not that naïve. If Peter lived with his mom and was constantly hearing what an SOB his dad was—and that every new pair of Nikes he couldn’t buy was because his father wouldn’t pay up—he might consider murder to collect child support back pay through the estate. He might even be able to pull it off…with a gun or a knife. But exsanguination?”
“The animals were fairly simple to kill in that manner. Certainly easy enough for four boys with a rudimentary knowledge of anatomy. From the photographs, the job was a messy one, suggesting the perpetrators possessed no medical finesse.”
“Not so with Billy Arnell.”
I nodded. “Whoever inflicted those wounds knew what he was doing. Also, he had to subdue Arnell, who was a big man and would hardly allow himself to bleed out, even if he was being held down by three teenage boys.”
“Sedated.”
“Most likely.”
“Did the coroner find anything?”
“He submitted the tests. They should be back by now.”
“Time to visit again?”
“I believe so.”
We obtained a copy of the coroner’s report from Dr. Bailey’s assistant, Greg Regis. He might have provided it willingly, but we didn’t ask. If there’s any doubt as to whether someone will part with an item, there is an advantage to not requesting it. It’s easier to steal something when no one knows you want it.
So Paige went down to the morgue alone, posing as a reporter, and charmed Regis away from his desk. Then I slipped in, found the report, and slid a copy into my briefcase.
“Pentobarbital,” Paige said. “Used in veterinary work as an anesthetic and in hospitals to reduce intracranial pressure and induce comas. Also used in euthanasia. Serious stuff.”
We were in the car, pulled off along a residential street. Paige was on her laptop, using someone’s wireless Internet connection. Less than ethical, but we’d been unable to find a wireless-ready coffee shop in Middleton. So I’d driven along this road until Paige found a signal that wasn’t password-protected.
She continued. “The drug is probably available in hospitals or veterinary clinics, but it’s not something the average person could pick up in the drugstore.”
My cell phone rang and I glanced at the display.
“My father,” I said. I let it ring one more time, then answered.
“Lucas? I know you’re busy with the murder investigation, but you need to come back to Portland. We have a situation.”
My father’s news, while troubling, was not unexpected. Nor did it require our immediate return. I told him we’d finish a few things and be back by midafternoon.
Paige and I had a lead we wished to pursue before leaving. While there was always the possibility Billy Arnell had been a random victim, statistics show that such things are rare. People kill because their target blocks them from achieving a goal. The goals are equally predictable: satisfaction of the major drives—money, sex, power, and survival.
The most obvious suspect was Arnell’s first wife—Peter Arnell’s mother. It was unlikely that Peter would realize that his mother could recoup her lost child support payments through Arnell’s estate. But she would.
She could also know that her son was involved in the chupacabra attacks. It’s my experience that parental ignorance is often merely an excuse. Parents suspect what their children are doing—be it drugs, unsafe sexual behavior, or criminal acts. Whether they choose to pursue their suspicions to a conclusion is another matter. If Ms. Arnell did investigate her son’s activities, perhaps she saw in them an opportunity to get away with murder.
Paige and I split up again. When I returned to the car just over an hour later, she was already there. We began the trip to Portland before sharing what we’d learned.
“Well, I didn’t need an hour,” Paige began. “Took me ten minutes to find out whether Maggie Arnell could have had access to pentobarbital. According to your initial research, she worked as a home-care worker with the elderly, right?”
“Yes, but that wouldn’t provide easy access to drugs.”
“No, but she’s also a registered nurse. Looks like a case of burnout after the divorce, but she still temps as a public health nurse. She’s known at the hospital. No one would question her hanging around, and she’d know where to find what she needs.”
Paige ratcheted her chair back, getting comfortable. “Access to pentobarbital, plus the medical know-how to use it and to make those cuts. I think we might have struck it lucky with our first shot.” She glanced at me, studying my expression. “Or not…What did you find?”
“That Ms. Arnell’s claim of child-support negligence appears to have been exaggerated. In the five years since their divorce, Billy Arnell has only defaulted on payments once. In January of this year, his factory unexpectedly shut down due to a supply problem. It was closed for almost a month. Arnell, already struggling with postholiday bills, could only make partial payments for the next two months. He has, however, been repaying the loss willingly. Currently, he owes his ex-wife less than a thousand dollars.”
“Not worth killing for, though I guess it wouldn’t clear Peter Arnell’s name. They could claim he heard his mother badmouthing his dad about support—and denying him things because of it—so he assumed his dad owed more.” She paused, thinking. “I still like Maggie Arnell, though. What about other sources of money? Life insurance, maybe, if he hadn’t remembered to remove her as beneficiary. Or if his kids were the beneficiaries, would she get control of their funds?”
“I have a call in to an insurance contact who’s looking for the policy details.”
She smiled. “One step ahead of me, then. So now our next move is …”
Her smile faded as she realized there was no “next move.” We’d finished what we’d come to accomplish and couldn’t tarry any longer, not when a complication had arisen in Geddes’s case.
It was time to go back to Portland.
SEAN.” BENICIO CORTEZ STRODE FORWARD and clasped his hand. “Good to see you, son. And belated congratulations on your graduation last year. I hear you’re doing an excellent job already. Your uncles must be looking over their shoulders.”
As they waited for Sean’s grandfather in the lobby of the new Cortez Portland office, Benicio peppered Sean with questions. How was Bryce? Was he enjoying political science? Did Sean miss New York? Was he settled into his new condo in L.A. yet? Was he looking forward to having Bryce home for the summer?
The questions revealed a thorough knowledge of Sean’s public life, and suggested a keen interest in his well-being. It was flattering, of course, to think that such an important man took notice of you. That was the point.
Of all four Cabal CEOs, Benicio Cortez was the most popular in the purest sense of the word—that he was well liked by the general Cabal populace. When Sean’s grandfather entered a few minutes later, Benicio greeted him, then his bodyguards—by name, asking after their families, even mentioning the names of their children. And the bodyguards—though they’d met Benicio many times before—never failed to give the desired response. They were flattered.
It was a lot of work knowing the details of his rivals’ organizations, and the lives of those people important in the organizations. But as Lucas had told Sean once, it all came down to one principle: Know thy enemy.
While his grandfather and Benicio feigned pleasant small talk, Sean wondered yet again if he’d done the right thing, volunteering to come along so he could help Lucas.
Help Lucas? Help yourself, you mean. The only reason you’re here is to protect your ass. You’re making sure the identity of Lucas’s “client” doesn’t get leaked.
No. For once, Sean could be fairly certain the nagging voice of his conscience was wrong. While he didn’t think Lucas and Paige would turn him in, one uneasy glance in his direction when asked about their “client” might be enough.
Or is that what you’re hoping for, Sean? Outed by someone else, someone you can blame if you get disowned?
No, if he was revealed to be Lucas’s client, he wouldn’t wait to see whether his grandfather followed that information to the logical conclusion—that Sean was gay. If his client-hood came out, so would he. Voluntarily.
“There’s a meeting room upstairs,” Benicio said. “But the elevator isn’t working reliably yet. I can have my men bring the furniture to a room down here, if that’s easier for you, Thomas.”
His grandfather glared over the poke at his age and growing infirmity. Benicio was almost twenty years Thomas’s junior and as hale and vigorous as a man half that age, and Thomas Nast never appreciated the reminder. Yet when Benicio put it that way, as a considerate suggestion, Thomas couldn’t argue without sounding petty. He could come back with a clever rejoinder…but that would require thinking of one first, and verbal jousting wasn’t one of his grandfather’s battle skills. Instead, he said he’d try the elevator and, if it failed, the stairs would be fine.
As they headed for the elevator, Sean noticed a young woman just outside the main doors. She was walking past the window, scrutinizing the building.
Tall and slender, she wore a midriff-baring black T-shirt, red slim-fitting jeans, and knee-high boots. Her dark hair was gathered back in a hastily tied knot. Oversized shades partially obscured her face but showed a strong, fine bone structure, worthy of a runway model.
The young woman walked to the glass and put her face against it, like a kid peering through a store window. With a jolt, Sean realized who she was.
Leaving the men still talking, he hurried across the lobby and pushed open the door.
Her face lit up in a grin. “Hey, what are you doing here?”
“I should ask you the same thing.”
As she walked in, Sean struggled to get over the shock of momentarily not recognizing his sister. He’d seen her just a few days ago and yet, meeting her out of context, seen at a distance in her dark glasses…He shook his head, thinking, “My God, when did this happen?” as if she’d grown from child to woman overnight.
When he turned to his grandfather, he saw he wasn’t the only one caught off guard. Benicio was smiling, clearly recognizing Savannah, but their grandfather, who hadn’t seen her in more than two years, shot Sean a look as if to say, “Who is this girl and why are you letting her into a Cabal office?”
Savannah strode past Thomas’s bodyguards, who stared after her with looks Sean didn’t like seeing directed at his sixteen-year-old sister.
A few feet from Benicio and their grandfather, Savannah whipped off her sunglasses with a dramatic flourish and a blinding smile.
“Grandpa!”
Recognition hit Sean’s grandfather, first in a slack-jawed look of shock, then in a glower.
“I am not your grandfather, Savannah,” he said.
“Oh.” Her blue eyes widened. “I didn’t mean you, Mr. Nast.”
She crossed to Benicio, who embraced her.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Benicio asked.
“I have a late lunch today, then a spare period, so I thought I’d swing by and see if Cassandra was still here, maybe talk her into taking me out to eat. Someplace nice. Cass might not eat, but she has great taste in restaurants.” A wicked grin. “Expensive tastes.”
“Well, I’m afraid Ms. DuCharme left a little while ago, but if you wait, Lucas and Paige will be here shortly. I’ll take the three of you out for an early dinner.” He smiled. “Someplace suitably trendy, I promise. First, though, we have some business to attend to.”
“No problem.” She glanced across the lobby. “So this is the new office, huh? Mind if I poke around? Make a nuisance of myself?”
Benicio gave her an indulgent smile. “Have fun.”
A moment later, as they stepped onto the elevator, Thomas turned to Benicio.
“You’re just going to let her ‘poke around’? Unsupervised?”
“Of course. Savannah has free run of all the Cortez offices. She’s my son’s adopted daughter. That makes her family.”
A guileless smile at Thomas, then Benicio stepped aside as his bodyguard pushed the second-floor button and the elevator doors closed.
Lucas and Paige arrived shortly after, and the meeting became a three-way struggle for control of the case, and Spencer Geddes with it.
Thomas argued that the West Coast was considered Nast territory, and this vampire’s brutal public attack while Sean and his colleagues were in nearby Tacoma was clearly a slap in the face of the Nast Cabal. Quite possibly, it might even be a taunt, or a declaration of war.
Benicio dismissed both possibilities, but claimed that a problem in Middleton fell under the jurisdiction of the Cortez Cabal, which had the closest offices—in Seattle and now here in Portland.
Lucas and Paige declared that it didn’t matter whose territory it was. The case might involve a vampire and didn’t involve a Cabal, so it fell to the interracial council for resolution.
Lucas said, “Cassandra and my father agreed earlier that the council—as represented by Paige and Cassandra DuCharme—will allow Spencer Geddes to remain here, in custody, as long as we are permitted unhampered access and he is not mistreated.”
Benicio’s brows rose at the word mistreated, but when Lucas looked his way, as if challenging him to comment, he didn’t.
“If this is council business,” Thomas said, “then what are you doing here, Lucas? Interfering on their behalf?”
“I was hired—”
“Oh, that’s right. The mysterious client, the one you won’t allow anyone to contact, to confirm his existence.”
Sean tensed, but neither Lucas’s nor Paige’s gazes flickered his way.
“All my clients are assured of complete confidentiality,” Lucas said evenly. “I cannot break that confidence.”
Not even if it meant losing control of the case. Losing control of Spencer Geddes. All to protect Sean’s privacy.
Sean took a deep breath. “What if this client was asked to come forward?” He met Lucas’s gaze. “If he understands that remaining quiet might hinder the case, he’d probably give up that right to confidentiality.”
“And that would be his decision. But at this point I don’t feel it would resolve this particular matter.” Lucas turned to Thomas. “Am I correct, sir, in assuming you would not release your claim on Spencer Geddes if I produced my client?”
Thomas’s expression answered for him. Whatever Sean might say, his grandfather wasn’t going to drop the matter.
“I wasn’t bluffing or trying to divert their attention,” Sean said afterward, when they’d left the two older men alone and gone searching for Savannah.
“I know,” Lucas said. “Your offer was sincere, as was my response. Revealing yourself to be my client will eliminate one excuse for them, but they will only find another to take its place. If you wish to tell them, I can’t stop you, but I would ask that you ensure that no one thinks I encouraged you to come forward. That would make supernaturals wary of hiring me. If you have your own reason for wanting this information to be revealed, please consider attaining that end in another way. It will not help this case.”
Sean felt his cheeks heat. Lucas kept walking, his gaze forward. Paige glanced his way with a small, sympathetic smile.
They knew.
With that, he lost any hope that discovering his presence in a gay bar might not make his family jump to the obvious conclusion. As soon as they had cause to wonder, they’d look at his dating history for reassurance—and they wouldn’t find it.
He’d never been good at “playing straight.” Rather than date women, he’d simply kept his romantic life private. Easy enough to do at college. Harder now that he was working full time in the Cabal. By their standards, it was time for him to marry and produce heirs. Before long, he’d need to make a decision.
He glanced at Lucas. Here was maybe the only person who could understand his situation. Lucas was a Cabal son himself, but—being outside the life—he would have no personal stake in any decision Sean might make. He longed to ask Lucas’s opinion on the matter. Yet before he could work up the courage, they rounded the basement corner, heading toward the security cells, and heard Savannah’s voice ahead.
SAVANNAH WAS TALKING TO KEPLER, THE young officer guarding Geddes. While nothing in her body language suggested blatant flirtation, she was giving Kepler her undivided attention and that, it seemed, was encouragement enough.
Kepler was no more than Sean’s age and Savannah could—when she so desired—act mature enough to pass for eighteen. So Kepler’s attentions were not inappropriate. That didn’t mean I was eager to encourage them, though.
“I see you’ve met Savannah,” I said as we drew up beside the pair. “My ward.”
“And my sister,” Sean said, injecting the words with the warning mine had lacked.
Kepler colored slightly. “I was just telling Miss, uh, Nast, er, Cortez.”
“Levine,” Paige said. “And yes, it’s horribly confusing. Better just stick to first names.” A smile for Kepler, then she turned to Savannah. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”
Kepler’s eyes widened. Flirting with a Cabal “daughter” might have an illicit allure, but he clearly didn’t feel the same about a high school student.
“I had lunch, then a spare,” Savannah said.
Paige made a show of checking her watch. “Can’t have lasted this long.”
“No, but Benicio told me to stick around and go for an early dinner with you guys. Can’t argue with Benicio Cortez, right?”
“You can try that explanation on your teachers.” She handed Savannah her keys. “The car’s out back. Put your knapsack in. We’ll head out to eat when Benicio and Mr. Nast are done.”
Plans for an “early dinner” quickly became promises of a late one. We left word with my father that we’d be at home, and he could pick us up whenever he was ready.
The negotiations over Spencer Geddes and the case were not going well. Thomas Nast refused to cede authority to my father. Even with the most mundane of cases, this would not have surprised me.
The Nast and Cortez Cabals had been rivals for centuries. In the past few decades, that competition had hit its peak, with the title of “victor” in constant flux. The Cortez Cabal was the most powerful on the continent, which left the Nasts to accept “largest” as a consolation prize. To surrender their claim over Spencer Geddes would be to acknowledge the Cortezes as their superiors, which Thomas Nast was understandably loath to do.
Such things could usually be handled diplomatically, one side or the other surrendering control without loss of face. Here, though, the vampire angle added a dimension that ensured Thomas Nast would not back down willingly. So, by protocol, they had to consult the CEOs of the other two North American Cabals to attempt a resolution. If that failed, they’d call on the impartial inter-Cabal judges for full mediation.
Paige could have joined the fray, pressing her claim on behalf of the council. But as she put it: “Let ’em fight. Hopefully we’ll have the case solved before they decide who it belongs to.” Which was further proof that I’d married a very smart woman.
We’d just arrived in our driveway when my insurance contact called back.
“Billy Arnell had a quarter-of-a-million-dollar life-insurance policy,” I said as we settled into the living room, where Cassandra had been reading the newspaper.
“Who’s Billy Arnell?” Cassandra asked.
“The dead guy,” Savannah said, sitting beside Cassandra. “Pay attention.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand isn’t too shabby,” Paige said. “Not suspiciously high for a guy that age with a wife, an ex-wife, and four kids. But it would be a nice chunk of change. So who gets it?”
“His current wife is the sole beneficiary.”
“Ah, the grieving widow…who was in quite a hurry to get her dearly departed into the ground.” She paused. “She works in retail, doesn’t she?”
“A grocery store clerk.”
“Probably not much hope of a hidden medical background there, but let’s go see what we can find.”
I left Paige to her Internet research. After about thirty minutes, she called me upstairs.
“I’m on a roll for lucky breaks today,” she said as I walked in.
“Terri Arnell has a medical background?”
“No, but Middleton High has an incredible alumni site and grads with way too much free time.”
She pointed at the screen as I sat down. “Meet Teresa—Terri—Arnell, nee Regis. We have her parents’ names, her date of birth, educational highlights, careers past and present, husband’s name—with a convenient link to his alumnus page—plus the name, birth dates, and pictures of their daughter, their current address …”
Paige shook her head. “An identity thief’s wet dream. For our purposes, though, the information only rules out leads. Terri doesn’t have any medical background. She graduated from high school and married Billy the next year—she was nineteen, he was thirty.” She shuddered. “I really hope she wasn’t his kids’ babysitter. Anyway, all her regular jobs have been in retail, and her only listed volunteer activity is helping Billy’s softball team.”
“Hmm.”
“My sentiments exactly. Far from promising. However—” She flipped to a page of graduate photos. “You saw a man at Terri’s house. The one who stopped you from speaking to her. Did he give you a name?”
“No. I barely had a chance to give mine. It was a rather abrupt dismissal.”
“Care to take a shot at finding him?”
I moved closer and started looking through the years surrounding Terri’s graduation. No one seemed familiar. Then, in the graduating class two years before hers, I saw someone who did—the morgue assistant. But he wasn’t the man who’d kept me from seeing Terri, so I was about to flip to the next year when I stopped.
“What was Terri’s maiden name again?”
Paige clicked on the bookmark. Siblings: one sister and one brother. I clicked the link for her brother, and it took me to Greg Regis—the morgue assistant. According to his profile, Regis had been enrolled in medical school, but hadn’t graduated. Now he worked in the hospital “with plans to resume his medical training.”
“That explains how Terri got Billy’s body released so quickly,” Paige said.
“And it might explain why Regis was so eager to show me the photos ‘proving’ an animal attack, and to espouse an honest belief in the existence of the chupacabra.”
We told Cassandra what we’d found.
“Good,” she said. “So now you’ll return to Middleton and prove this theory.”
“That, I fear, would be difficult and likely dangerous. We have no right to be solving the case. That’s the province of the Middleton police. All we can do is bring these links to their attention.”
“Which you have?”
“Through my contact at the Middleton Herald. I explained my findings and asked his opinion. He was very intrigued by my discoveries, which he’s going to pass along to his contact at the police station.”
“And that will be enough?” Cassandra asked.
“I hope so.”
When my father finally did take us out to dinner, only Paige and I joined him. Paige had persuaded Savannah to eat earlier. I appreciated that. Having Savannah around when my father explained about the Portland office would have been awkward. In her presence, I must be careful of the example I make, and I had a feeling that tonight it wouldn’t be a good one.
My father knew Paige liked small, intimate bistros, so he’d selected the most exclusive one in Portland. Years ago, he’d learned that this favored political strategy—blatantly catering to a target’s tastes and desires—didn’t work on me. Yet when I fell in love with Paige, he’d found a way around that. I might refuse a trip to New York, but if he offered it for Paige, knowing how much she’d enjoy the break, how could I refuse?
Paige had been flattered, as most people were, thrilled that he’d taken pains to get to know her, proof that my father was working toward a better relationship with me. I’d known better.
I’d decided to let Paige figure it out for herself. While my decision had been rooted in my confidence in her intelligence, my silence had been a betrayal of trust only fully apparent after she found out. It did not, as I expected, take long. After the New York trip, she’d confessed her suspicions. When I’d been unsurprised by her conclusions, she’d realized I’d seen through my father’s ploy all along.
Paige and I rarely argue. We might passionately debate outside matters—the progress of an investigation, the interpretation of facts, or some aspect of ethics—but on a personal level, we rarely squabble or fight. It is as if, recognizing that we both have enough external conflict to deal with, we wish to keep this one arena of our lives free from petty arguments. But when Paige found out that she’d been, as she put it, “played for a fool” as I’d “stood by and watched,” I’d learned that trust truly is the cornerstone of a relationship and even the strongest one can be tested if you deliver a hard enough blow.
So in taking us out to a restaurant Paige would love, my father committed a serious tactical error. He realized this when she ordered bisque and mineral water, and refused any wine or entrée, declaring she’d lost her appetite.
My father then switched strategies and began asking about Savannah—had she decided to pursue art postsecondary and if so, did she have any schools in mind? Safe conversation, designed to reduce any building antagonism. Paige was having none of it and deflected all queries to me. Then, when the entrées arrived, she said, “You put Adam—and me—in a very awkward position, Benicio.”
My father opened his mouth.
She continued. “You gave Adam information he knew Lucas should have, and asked him not to pass it on. His only option was to ignore that. And my only option was to tell Lucas what he should have heard from you.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t. You thought Adam was gullible enough to buy your story and keep his mouth shut. Your intention was to use him to sweeten the package before you presented it to Lucas—the same reason you designed those ‘conjoined’ offices for us.”
My father blinked.
“Yes, we know who’s supposed to occupy that main office. Next time you have a secret, make sure everyone working on it realizes it’s a secret. But the point of those offices, like hiring Adam, was all part of your strategy. You knew Lucas would never accept a Cabal satellite office of his own. But one that offers employment for a newly graduated friend? Plus the chance to work with his wife?”
My father’s gaze shot to me. “That wasn’t—”
“Your intention,” I finished. “It never is.”
“I realize I may have handled this poorly, Lucas.”
“There is no way such a thing could be handled well.” I cut into my salmon. “You have built a satellite office near my home. I can mitigate the damage by managing it myself, which ethically I’d never do. Yet if I refuse, then I accept—on behalf of my family—the danger of having the Cabal so close.”
“That’s not—” My father caught my gaze. “I wouldn’t do that to you. This is merely a proposal—”
I arched my eyebrows. “A proposal? I believe that is the step that precedes construction, not follows it.”
My father didn’t miss a beat. “True, but in today’s market, I could easily refit and resell the offices at a profit, which is exactly what I’ll do if you don’t wish to accept my offer.”
“Then I’d suggest you call your real estate agent.”
“I’m not asking you to manage a Cabal satellite office, Lucas. This is something altogether different.”
“A new division for Cortez Corporation,” Paige murmured, remembering Ibsen’s earlier words.
My father nodded. “Yes, and that new division would be internal security. A Cabal watchdog. You’d continue to do exactly what you’re doing now, except from within the organization, where you’d have complete access to Cabal resources and our full cooperation.”
“That wouldn’t work,” I said.
“Why not? Law enforcement does it—policing their own. I recognize the capacity for abuse that is intrinsic in the Cabal structure. With power comes the temptation of abuse. I want to stop the worst offenders. The Cabals must do that to be the kind of organization the supernatural community needs. And you’re the best person to help us reach that goal.”
I suppose he expected me to thrill to those words. Knowing that made the knife dig in all the deeper, breaking through the scabs of old wounds, and I was a teenager again, accidentally discovering that Cabals weren’t what he raised me to believe—a utopian communal organization for supernaturals, with the Cortez family as its beneficent leaders.
I could hear my father’s voice again, dictating execution writs as casually as if he’d been ordering office supplies. Later, when we attempted reconciliation, I’d heard that same voice, lamenting the “abuses” within his organization, vowing to clean them up, as if they were a cancer that others had planted.
Today those abuses continued unabated. But now he was telling me I could change that. No longer a naïve child or an idealistic youth, I was a young man with delusions of knighthood—a condition best handled by satisfying those delusions.
Gotham is corrupt, son, and you’re the only one who can save it.
“Paige?” I said, barely trusting myself to speak. “I think we should leave.”
“I agree.”
I led her out, my hand against her back. We had just stepped onto the sidewalk when my father strode up behind us, his bodyguards staying discreetly inside the glass doors.
“Lucas.”
I kept walking, Paige beside me. My father fell into step on my other side.
“I know you’re upset, but I hope you’ll reconsider. Think what this office would mean for you. A steady income, less travel, and a chance to work with Paige, pursuing a goal you both believe in.” He stepped in my path, then turned to face me. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”
I stood there, gaping, unable to believe he’d so blatantly exploit my dreams and fears to satisfy his own agenda. I wanted to say something, but there was no calm or measured response that wouldn’t sound like the tantrum of a hurt child.
Paige’s warm fingers enveloped mine and she tugged my hand.
“Lucas? Please. Can we go? It’s cold.”
With that, she saved me from having to make any response. I could turn away from my father and busy myself taking off my coat and putting it around her shoulders, then lead her away.
My father didn’t follow.
Once around the first corner, Paige tried to pass back my coat, but I refused. My blood was running too hot to need it.
We walked for three blocks in silence. Paige didn’t try to get me to talk about it. She never did, knowing I would if and when I was ready. Nor was there any danger of her trying to downplay the situation by convincing me that my father hadn’t meant to manipulate me or, worse, that I was overreacting.
Paige was the one person whom I could trust to understand my father’s actions and how they would affect me. So we walked in silence, and it was enough to know she was there for me, as she always was. I don’t think she’ll ever know how much that means to me.
As we passed a small park, we took the path leading inside. I don’t know if I led or she did. Perhaps neither, the choice being made by mutual understanding.
Back from the road, we found a gazebo sheltered by trees. Paige cast a questioning glance toward it, and I changed direction. Once inside, she led me to the most secluded spot on the benches.
I sat, and she eased onto my lap, her skirt hiked up as she straddled me. Her lips moved to mine and we kissed, her usual playfulness replaced by a sharper edge, an urgency I desperately needed.
Her hands soon slid down my shirt and undid my pants. She stroked me, her grip firm, bordering on rough, and everything else—every thought, every worry—fell away. When my fingers moved under her skirt to her panties, she worked them off. Then, after one last glance around, she lifted her skirt and arranged it to hide us, then slid down on me.
When we arrived home, via taxi, Savannah was asleep. Cassandra was still awake, which was to be expected. She slept little these days, a symptom of the condition she refused to acknowledge—her impending death.
She wanted to know whether I’d heard back from Sullivan at the Middleton Herald. I remembered then that I’d turned off my cell phone for dinner. When I checked, I found Sullivan had indeed called. The police had acted on his tip and must have already found the evidence they needed to support our theory, because as of midnight, Teresa Arnell, Greg Regis, and a second man had been arrested.
I phoned my father. He must have already been on a call because his voice mail came on immediately. I left a message and said if he needed more information to contact me tonight. Otherwise I’d be at the office by eight to oversee the vampire’s release.
Cassandra was satisfied with this, so Paige and I headed upstairs. We engaged in more “physical therapy” before bed. By the time we finished, I could view the events of the evening calmly, too drained and sated to work up any emotional response.
“He’s right,” I said, lying in the dark. “That is what I want. What I dream of. Not within a Cabal, of course. But working together, in an office, here in Portland …”
Her fingers clasped mine.
I turned. “Do you know what I was thinking when I saw that office? I couldn’t have designed it better myself.”
“You know what I was thinking?” She looked over at me. “With a shared office that big, we could fit in a futon and screen. Maybe even a bed.”
I laughed, and her hand tightened on mine.
“That’s the plan,” she said softly. “We’ve always said so. Our ‘someday’ goal. What we’re working toward. And we will get there. When we can. We have plenty of time.”
I was fortunate enough to fall straight to sleep…only to be awoken thirty minutes later by my cell phone. As I checked it, Paige stirred beside me.
“Sorry. It’s my father. Probably returning my call.” I felt on the nightstand for my glasses. “I’ll take it in the office.”
“Stay,” she said through a yawn, snuggling back down into her pillow.
I answered with “You got my message, I presume.”
“I did, but that’s not why I’m calling. Spencer Geddes escaped tonight. I need you down here.”
I sat up. “I certainly hope you don’t expect me to help look for him. In fact, in light of the arrests, I hope you aren’t going to look for him. Perhaps this isn’t the way you’d like his incarceration to end, and I’m sure you’ll suffer some embarrassment with the Nasts because of it, but Spencer Geddes is an innocent man.”
“No, Lucas, he isn’t. He killed—”
“Unless you have substantial evidence to disprove the Middleton police’s theory—”
“I don’t mean that man in Middleton. In his escape, Geddes killed one of the guards. Gus Reichs.”
SEAN PAUSED OUTSIDE HIS UNCLE’S HOTEL room door. It was almost one, but they’d all been downstairs in the lounge until past midnight, so it was unlikely his uncle had retired yet. Still, Sean moved closer to the door, listening for sounds of activity.
And hoping you won’t hear any, right? If he’s sleeping, you can go back to bed and forget this whole thing.
But he didn’t want to forget it. He’d spent the evening working up the nerve, and downing more Scotch than usual to find it.
Drinking “more than usual” a lot these days, aren’t we?
Sean ignored the voice. If alcohol would get him through this, he’d take it.
He’d chosen to break the news first to Uncle Josef. This was the person least likely to judge and most likely to help him. He’d lost his own son to the vampire, Edward, and they’d grown closer since then—a son without a father and a father without a son.
Sean could hear no sounds from within, but he knocked anyway, lightly at first. When his uncle didn’t answer, he swallowed and assessed his reaction. Relief mixed with disappointment, but heavier on the disappointment. So he knocked again, louder.
The door opened.
“Sean.” His uncle smiled. “I was just in the washroom. Come in.”
“I’m sorry to come by so late.”
“No, no. I still have some work to do before I can even think about sleep.” He walked toward the minibar, waving Sean to a chair in the sitting area. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I’m fine, thanks. I—” Deep breath. “I came by to tell you that I know who hired Lucas Cortez to investigate the Middleton murder.”
He paused, waiting for his uncle to ask how he knew. Instead, his uncle smiled, then walked over and thumped him on the back before taking a seat.
“I knew it. I told your grandfather. He wanted to believe it, but I don’t think he dared.”
“Wanted to believe…?”
“The reason you’ve been getting cozy with your half—sorry, alleged half sister. I told your grandfather that you’re a clever lad. What better way to keep an eye on Lucas Cortez than to befriend his ward?”
“You think I spend time with Savannah to spy on Lucas?”
His uncle raised his glass in a dismissive wave. “Spy is a harsh word. Keep tabs on him. And it paid off this time. I’m not sure whether knowing the name of his client will help, but it certainly can’t hurt.”
“I’m the client, Uncle Josef.”
His uncle stopped, glass in midair. Then he swore and smacked it down on the table. For a moment, his uncle said nothing, and Sean held his breath, watching his uncle’s face for his reaction.
“We can work with this,” his uncle said after a moment. “Your grandfather doesn’t need to know the truth—”
“I think he does.”
His uncle met his gaze, expression hard. “No, Sean, he doesn’t. Your father had a sentimental streak when he was younger. He had…ideas. About the treatment of witches, vampires, werewolves. He wasn’t a bleeding heart like Lucas Cortez, but he argued for some changes. Your grandfather cured him of those ideas quickly enough.”
Sean flushed. “My father has nothing to do with my choices. It isn’t even a choice. I didn’t wake up one morning and think—”
“Of course you didn’t. You came by it honestly, that’s all I’m saying. You read about this chupacabra attack when we were in Tacoma, and you knew we’d see it. So you hired Lucas to investigate, to ensure this vampire got a fair trial.”
Sean eased back in his chair. “You think I hired Lucas because I read—?”
“A problem easily solved. We’ll admit to your grandfather that you’re responsible for Lucas’s investigation only because you read that article and, in stopping by to check on Savannah, you mentioned it to them. Casually. But Lucas, always looking for a battle to fight, saddled up and rode out to save the vampires. Not your fault.”
And here, Sean realized, was a solution to his dilemma. He could declare himself the cause of the investigation without coming out. A few days ago, he’d have seized the chance. But now? It wasn’t an option now. The end was close, and he was determined to get there.
“I hired Lucas because I was there, at the scene of the crime. I found the body, and I didn’t want anyone to know it.”
His uncle nodded. “Because you didn’t want to get involved?”
“No, because of where the body was found. In a gay bar.” Sean paused, then pushed on, forcing the words out. “I’m gay.”
His uncle lifted his glass and took a long drink. His expression was somewhat guarded, but mainly just thoughtful.
“So it’s true, then,” he murmured after a long moment of silence.
“You knew?”
His uncle laid the glass down. “There have been rumors for years, Sean. Even when you were young, when your cousins were ogling girls at the beach, you barely bothered to look. How old were you when you stopped dating altogether? Sixteen, seventeen? Do you think no one noticed?”
Sean felt his hands trembling on the chair arms. Trembling with relief. All this time, they’d known, and nothing had changed. He’d been a fool to hide it.
“So Granddad knows?” he said.
“Of course not. Nor will he.”
“But— I can’t—”
His uncle leaned forward. His blue eyes went ice cold, like his father’s when he’d give a subordinate an order he didn’t want questioned. “What you do in your personal life is your own business, Sean. You will not make it the family’s business. You will do what every Nast son is expected to do. You will marry, and you will produce heirs. This is your responsibility to your family.”
“My responsibility? To trick some woman into marrying me?”
“No woman needs to be ‘tricked’ into marrying a Nast. You have wealth and power. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a wife, even if you tell her the truth.”
“But I— I’m not attracted to women. I can’t—”
“We all have to do things we don’t like.”
Sean could only stare, unable to believe what he was hearing.
His uncle patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’ll get you that drink now.”
As Sean sat there, stunned into silence, someone knocked. It was his grandfather’s executive assistant.
“Sir?” She saw Sean across the room. “Oh, good, you’re both here. You’re both needed in Mr. Nast’s room as soon as possible. Something’s happened at the Cortez office.”
His uncle promised they’d be there. As he closed the door, Sean’s shock finally faded, and he stood.
“I’m sorry if you don’t agree with my choices, Uncle Josef, but—”
His uncle lifted a hand. “Before you continue, Sean, I’d like you to remember that you aren’t the only one affected by your ‘choices.’ Imagine what your grandfather will think if he learns you found this victim in Middleton. A Cabal son, tripping over a vampire kill? Hardly a coincidence, I’m sure.”
“Yes, it was, because it wasn’t a vampire kill.”
“According to who?” His uncle’s face hardened. “Vampires are a threat to us all, Sean. I know that better than anyone. Give me the excuse, and I’ll have your grandfather believing he almost lost another grandson to the beasts.”
“That’s not—”
“Fair? Let’s talk about fair, Sean. Would it be fair for you to do this to your family? To rob your grandfather of another grandson? How will Bryce cope without you to guide him? He doesn’t have what it takes to be in business. Without you, he’ll fail. You’d do that to them for the sake of personal gratification?”
“Personal grat—?”
“Enough.” His uncle strode across the room. “We have business to attend to.” At the door, he glanced over his shoulder and met Sean’s gaze. “This conversation is over, and I never want to resume it. Is that understood?”
His uncle left before Sean could answer.
WHEN WE ARRIVED IN THE PARKING LOT, A dark-haired man the size of a linebacker stood in the delivery door alcove, waiting for us.
“Hey, Troy,” Paige said. “How are you doing?”
“Shocked. I used to work with Reichs when I was back in general security. Good guy.” He glanced at me. “Your dad’s inside. Gotta go around. The back door’s part of the crime scene.”
“Care to fill us in?” I said as we circled to the front.
While my father would reiterate the story, Troy could be counted on to provide the least biased version.
According to Troy, he and his partner, Griffin, had accompanied my father here after dinner last night so my father could make a few calls from the secured landline. Before leaving, my father went downstairs to check with the guards. They’d discovered Reichs dead in Geddes’s empty cell and found the other guard, Kepler, regaining consciousness by the back door. Geddes was gone.
“What does Kepler say?” I asked as we reached the front door.
“Not much. He’s pretty confused. Banged up his leg, too. Your dad has him resting on a cot upstairs while he flies in a Cabal doctor.”
My father met us just inside the door. As he retold the story, Troy fell back to give us privacy.
“While this is a tragedy, it’s a tragedy of the Cabal’s making,” I said when my father finished. “You confined a vampire for a crime, with absolutely no proof that he had committed it. You failed to release him when others were charged with that crime. You’ve given vampires no reason to trust Cabals, so when Geddes saw a chance to escape, he seized it. I’d suggest time allocated to hunting him could be better spent on an internal review of the situation.”
“Right now, finding Spencer Geddes isn’t at the top of anyone’s agenda,” my father said. “In fact, the Nasts would rather we didn’t look at all. The first thing they did on hearing the news was to call an emergency Cabal conference to vote on the St. Cloud proposal.”
Paige looked over sharply. “Reichs mentioned that. What is it?”
“The St. Clouds have proposed declaring all vampires dangerous offenders. Those living on American soil would be given thirty days to evacuate. Then—” He paused. “Those who remain would be executed.”
I would like to say that the details of the St. Cloud proposal came as a shock. They didn’t.
I’d heard rumblings of similar ideas even before Edward’s rampage. Afterward, the rumbles had surged to roars, but only temporarily, before my father and others managed to stifle them and deflect attention to other matters.
To the council and the vampire community, such talk had been temporary fear mongering, too ludicrous to take seriously. Yes, Edward had killed innocent supernaturals, but others had done the same many times. Three years ago, a disgruntled Cabal employee had set fire to a Cabal satellite office and killed eight coworkers. Afterward, no one had suggested exiling and executing all half-demons.
Yet vampires were different. Like werewolves, they were inherently dangerous. Like werewolves, there were so few of them that an exile could be enforced. But rarely did anyone suggest that werewolves be exiled or exterminated.
The excuse for the different treatment was that one needed to kill and the other didn’t. Vampires had to take a life a year to prolong their own existence. For werewolves, bloodlust was merely an extension of their predatory nature, and could be controlled. The werewolf Pack did not condone man-eating, and promptly punished offenders, so while the Cabals might fear werewolves, they had little reason to act against them.
The deeper reason for the prejudice, though, was that vampires posed a theoretical threat to Cabal power. Unlike werewolves, vampires resented being kept out of Cabal life. They had an innate sense of entitlement, reinforced by their semi-immortality and invulnerability. Shouldn’t they, not sorcerers, stand at the apex of the supernatural world?
Most prominent vampires, like Cassandra and Aaron, had no interest in running a supernatural corporation, so the threat of a vampire uprising remained unrealized. Yet a threat it remained. Here was the perfect opportunity to dispel it…and few supernaturals would complain.
The other two Cabals were expected in Portland by dawn. That meant Paige and I had only those few hours to investigate before they swept us aside. While we had little hope of exonerating Spencer Geddes, we might at least be able to reconstruct the events before the Cabals did their own creative reconstruction.
My father gave us full access to Kepler and the crime scene, along with the services of the crime-scene technician he was flying in with the doctor. He didn’t support the St. Cloud proposal, so he had little reason to block me.
The doctor and crime-scene technician arrived shortly thereafter. The technician was a shaman named Simon—a man I’d worked with before, which smoothed the process.
Reichs’s body had been found inside Spencer Geddes’s cell. He’d been bitten, but that wasn’t the cause of death. It takes time to drain a man’s blood, and Geddes could hardly afford to do that with Kepler presumably nearby. Geddes would have only bitten Reichs to render him unconscious and kill him. Then Geddes had gone upstairs, encountered Kepler, disabled him with a bite, then fled.
All the evidence Simon found supported this theory, including the bite marks in Reichs’s neck. This was no repeat of the chupacabra killing—a “bloodthirsty monster” blamed for a human attack. Spencer Geddes had bitten these men. But there were still questions.
How had Geddes managed to get Reichs into the cell in the first place? If the bite disabled Reichs, why strangle him? If he felt the need to kill Reichs, why not Kepler? Was there an element of self-defense? Of provocation? If there was anything to be said in Geddes’s defense, I needed to find it—quickly.
The doctor had examined Kepler and confirmed the bite on his neck did, like Reichs’s, come from a vampire. Kepler’s leg, while badly bruised, did not appear to be broken, so there was no need to fly him to Miami for further examination. We were then free to interview him.
We started with inquiries into Kepler’s health and condolences on the death of his superior officer. Paige had brought coffee and a pastry assortment from down the road, and by the time we launched into our questions, Kepler’s initial nervousness had vanished.
“This is what I was doing when Geddes escaped,” he said, lifting his coffee cup. “Caffeine run, probably from the same place. Mr. Cortez lets us do that, as long as one person stays with the prisoner and stays away from the cell.”
“Was there a scheduled time for your coffee runs?” I asked.
“Nah, just whenever we needed the boost or the break.”
“You say you were warned to stay away from Spencer Geddes when the other was gone.”
“Uh-huh. To avoid being hypnotized…or whatever it is vamps do.”
“Do you know why Reichs would break that rule?”
Kepler dropped his gaze. “No, sir.”
A lie, but I pushed onward. “And then you returned …”
“I came in through the back door. The vampire was right there, like he’d heard me. I went for him, but he pushed me over a pile of boxes and that must be how I hurt my leg. I don’t remember. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the back hall when you guys found me.”
“Do you have any idea why Geddes would kill Reichs? He’d disabled him and could have simply taken his gun for self-defense.”
“Well, sir, he is a vampire. They don’t like us. He probably killed Reichs just because he could. Maybe revenge for getting locked up.”
“Then why not kill you, too?”
As I held Kepler’s gaze, he reddened. “I—I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, sir. Reichs was a great guy. He taught me a lot. He just…He didn’t like vampires. A lot of us don’t.”
“But Reichs didn’t bother to hide it,” Paige murmured, remembering his comments the night they captured Geddes.
“Did Reichs make his feelings known to Geddes?” I asked.
Gaze down again, Kepler nodded. “He liked to taunt him. He told him about the St. Cloud proposal. Told him it didn’t matter what you guys found, the Cabals planned to execute him. Geddes would get so mad…. It scared me, sir. I wondered if I should tell anyone, but I didn’t want to get Reichs in trouble.”
Kepler went silent and I let him.
After a moment, he said, “I think that’s why Reichs was near the cell. He knew it made me uncomfortable—teasing the vampire like that—so he was doing it while I wasn’t there. That’s probably why Geddes killed him, too. Reichs pushed him too far.”
A few minutes later, my father came in to tell us the St. Clouds’ plane had landed. The meeting would begin in an hour. Now it was time to take a step we both dreaded: telling Cassandra.
Paige phoned and told her about the St. Cloud proposal. If Cassandra was surprised, she gave no sign. Cassandra was adroit enough to know such a threat had always been possible. She wanted to be at the meeting, of course, which we’d foreseen, and my father had agreed to.
Before Paige signed off, she said, “Quick question. We’re trying to figure out how Spencer Geddes’s cell got opened. We know Reichs was alone with him at the time and may have approached the cell. Could Geddes have charmed him into opening it?”
Paige listened to Cassandra’s answer, interjecting a few “uh-huh” and “I see” responses.
When she hung up, she turned to me. “Short answer? No.”
I nodded. “Because vampires charm not by hypnotizing their prey, but by inducing a highly suggestible state. Meaning if Reichs had no desire to open that door, Geddes couldn’t make him do it.”
“Begging the question: What would ever possess a guy to open the door for a pissed-off vampire?”
SEAN SAT AT THE MEETING TABLE BETWEEN his uncle and his grandfather and, at that moment, it was the last place he wanted to be.
His uncle’s words still burned. Suck it in and do your duty to the family. As incredibly insensitive as that was, his uncle had made one valid point. If Sean left the Cabal, he’d hurt the two people he cared about most: Bryce and his grandfather.
With his uncle’s words, any fantasy of being accepted by his family had evaporated. They did accept it…as long as he didn’t let his sexual orientation stand in the way of his duties to marry and have children. The need to provide heirs was just an excuse—any gay man could still have children via surrogacy. But Nasts had to uphold the Cabal culture of machismo. Being gay wasn’t an option.
So Sean was trapped between two impossible choices: abandoning his family or living a lie. This wasn’t a choice to be made today, or even this month; perhaps not for years. Yet he knew one thing. He wouldn’t play the hypocrite. He wouldn’t flaunt it, but neither would he date women and marry.
Things would eventually come to a head. But for now, he’d start carving his own path, making the decisions that were right for him rather than the ones that would make the fewest waves. In some ways, he’d already been doing that—as with his relationship with Savannah—but he’d no longer feel guilty or torn.
The meeting got off to an explosive start a few minutes later when Lucas and Paige joined them. The grumbles rose to ill-concealed gasps of surprise and grunts of outrage when Cassandra DuCharme followed them in. The few who hadn’t met her after the Edward and Natasha problem were promptly educated by their neighbors, and a fresh round of shock and outrage surged.
Cassandra’s gaze lighted on Sean’s with a faint frown. He’d met her several times, and always got the same look, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should know him. He smiled and she nodded, favoring him with a faint, regal smile.
Frank Boyd pushed to his feet. “This is most inappropriate—”
“I know,” Cassandra said. “It’s rude of me, and I apologize. It’s much simpler to condemn a race when one of them isn’t sitting in the room.”
Benicio rose and pulled out a chair on his left as he gestured for Lucas and Paige to sit at his right. Cassandra took her place and removed a leather-bound notebook from her purse, then a gold pen. When she looked up to see everyone watching her, she smiled.
“Please, proceed. Consider me merely an observer. I’m most interested to hear what you have to say on this matter.”
And so the discussion began, not flowing and rising to the fever pitch of impassioned debate, but limping along. It was indeed harder to condemn all vampires when one was sitting there listening. Especially when that vampire wasn’t a belligerent asshole like Spencer Geddes, but the sort of attractive, well-mannered woman you could imagine gracing the halls of your own organization.
When Lionel St. Cloud’s nephew, Phil, began reading his prepared notes on vampire behavior, his gaze kept shooting to Cassandra, clearly not as confident in his facts as he’d been when he wrote them.
“May I?” Cassandra said. “I believe I’m something of an expert on the subject.”
Phil nodded and Cassandra began a thorough, dispassionate explanation of vampire life: their powers, their feeding habits, and their required annual kill. Even the last she explained with no apology or emotion, as if it was a simple fact of their life. When asked how they chose their victims, her answer was equally honest and neutral. Vampires ranged from those who used their annual kill to stop criminals, to those who selected the elderly and ill, to those who just picked random strangers.
Vampires killed people. An indisputable fact. Move along. So they did.
Discussion then swung back to known cases of vampire attacks on Cabal members. The St. Clouds and Sean’s uncle trotted out every suspected case in the last two hundred years. A few weeks ago, Sean would have stayed silent. Not today.
Sean signaled for the floor. When his request was granted, he stood.
“And how does that compare, per capita, to half-demon attacks? Or sorcerer attacks? Maybe we can break it down further, save ourselves having to punish all vampires. Is it the women? The whites? The middle-aged?”
“Sean,” his uncle warned under his breath.
“No, this is silly. It’s prejudice and fear and we all know it. Even if we knew that fifty percent of white, middle-aged female vampires will kill a Cabal employee in their lifetimes, how does that justify punishing all of them?”
“And there is another point to consider,” Benicio said, his voice soft but carrying through the room. “While Sean makes a valid case from a humanitarian standpoint, we must also consider the political ramifications of exiling all vampires. First, it will damage our relations with Cabals in other countries. We don’t want vampires here, so we send them there. Beyond that, let’s think this through.” Benicio eased back in his chair. “So we exile all vampires. If I’m a werewolf, that would make me nervous. While a vampire has the advantage of invulnerability, their physical threat is minimal compared to that of a werewolf fearful of losing his territory. So we’ll need to exterminate them, too. Now who is a danger? Witches? Powerful sorcerers living outside the Cabal? With each step, we anger a larger group and reduce the overall supernatural population. Hardly good business sense.”
The debate continued. While Sean would love to believe his speech had some effect, he knew Benicio Cortez’s argument—the coldly political one—would carry more weight.
“One thing we’re forgetting,” his uncle said, “is the need for decisive action. If we hesitate, these vampires will—”
A discreet rap at the door. One of Benicio Cortez’s bodyguards poked his head in.
“Sorry, Mr. Cortez, but—”
Savannah slipped past the guard, who made only a token attempt to stop her. The sophisticated young woman Sean had seen the day before had vanished, replaced by the Savannah he knew better—wearing sneakers and jeans, her hair in a ponytail, no makeup. Her face was flushed, eyes anxious. Sean pushed his chair back.
“Sorry,” she said, “but I have to talk to Paige. It’s about the murder.”
Sean, closest to her, started to rise. His uncle laid a hand on his arm, a clear warning that while Sean could privately acknowledge Savannah, he should not do so here.
Sean slipped from his uncle’s grasp and went to his sister. Paige and Lucas were right behind him.
“I think I know why that guard went into Geddes’s cell,” Savannah whispered, too low for the others to hear. “And I think it’s my fault.”
CASSANDRA STAYED IN THE MEETING ROOM, not giving the Cabal heads a chance to debate behind her back.
Paige led Savannah past the bodyguards assembled in the hall. Troy leaned over to murmur something as they passed, then pointed, directing her to a room where we could speak in private.
As Sean closed the office door behind us, Savannah said to Paige, “I heard you and Cassandra talking on the phone about whether Geddes could have charmed the guard. After she left, I remembered something. When I was talking to the younger guard, he was going on about vampires, trying to impress me with what he knew.” She rolled her eyes. “Most of it was the kind of stuff you’d find in pulp novels. A supernatural—even a half-demon—should know better.”
“So you set him straight,” Paige said, crossing her arms. She gave Savannah a look that said she knew Savannah had done no such thing.
“Hey, if someone’s that ignorant, it’s not my job to straighten him out.”
“You played along.”
“Right, then he started going on about how he’d heard vampire saliva was a really strong aphrodisiac, that vampires used it to seduce their victim. Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. So I…you know …”
“Played along. And played it up. Playing him for a fool.”
“Yeah. I told him he was right. We got to talking about how you could collect the saliva, waiting until the vampire was asleep and using a swab.” She looked at Paige. “It was a stupid thing to do. I just got carried away.”
“Seeing how far you could take it.”
Her cheeks colored. “Yeah. But I never figured he’d actually do it. He was terrified of Geddes—of all vampires. I guess he must’ve told the other guard.”
“The one who wasn’t nearly as frightened of them,” Paige said. “And who decided to collect some himself.”
We split up again. Aaron was arriving from Atlanta in an hour, so I’d meet him at the airport, then we’d head to Seattle and see whether we could find Geddes or some sign of where he’d gone. His story would answer our remaining questions…if we could persuade him to give it. Sean offered to help, so we’d take him along.
Meanwhile, Paige would escort Savannah to school by taxi, then return to the house where she and Cassandra would review our notes, looking for any missed leads.
They left immediately. Sean had to speak to his grandfather first. While I waited, I wandered the second floor and ended up, not surprisingly, in the office meant for Paige and me.
Last night, Paige had said we were working toward this. I was certain that if I delved into her financial records, I’d find a “Cortez Winterbourne Investigations” fund. And my “Cortez Winterbourne Investigations” fund? It existed solely in my head, at the top of the list of “things I’ll do when I get ahead.”
In law school, I’d seen this—husbands and wives toiling at substandard jobs to put their spouses through school. Then it would be their turn. I was like the floundering D student who’d never passed the bar, but just kept plugging along, blinded and selfish, letting my spouse support my dreams.
How much longer would Paige wait for her turn?
I wanted to give her this office. This building.
Oh, it’s too big, she’d say. Too fancy. But even as she was figuring out what rooms could be rented, she’d be dreaming of the day when we’d need all this space.
I could see her walking through our office, pointing out what would go where, talking about how we’d divide the cases, about what staff and supplies we’d need. Overwhelmed by the work to come, but absolutely in her element.
At a sound behind me, I spun, certain it was Paige coming back. I flushed with guilt at being caught here, daydreaming.
“I was just—” I began, then saw it was my father. “I was looking for Sean. Have you seen him?”
“No, but—”
“I should find him. We have work to do.”
“A moment, Lucas, please.” He laid his hand on my arm. “I know you think I’m trying to trap you with this—” A wave around the office. “But I’m not. I’m honestly trying to help.”
“I’m sorry, Father, but I need to—”
His grip tightened. “Things aren’t working out as you’d hoped with Paige. You’re married to a strong, independent young woman who can take care of herself. Which is fine…except you’re just as independent and don’t want her taking care of you.”
“It’s a temporary problem, which I intend to resolve—”
“How? Take a full-time job at a law firm? You’d be miserable…and Paige wouldn’t allow it. Refusing clients who can’t pay? Whatever drives you to do this, I planted the seed. I want to help. This is my solution.”
“Join the Cabal? Become part of the problem?”
“No, become the solution. You’d be an independent division—”
“But still within the Cabal structure.”
“Only financially, and with no obligations placed on your allotted budget. You’d have full power to prosecute offenders—”
“From within the Cabal. Almost all my clients come from outside Cabals.”
“And that’s how you will subsidize your operating budget—by taking on paying clients. You’ll have the facilities and the staff to pursue and attract new clients.”
“How many supernaturals in trouble with a Cabal will hire a company with Cortez Cabal on the letterhead?”
“We’ll be more discreet than that, of course.”
“Which will only look like deception when they find out who’s underwriting the firm.”
My father didn’t even blink. “Your reputation will overcome that, Lucas. And you’ll have the option to buy the business from me whenever you wish.”
There it was. The carrot on the stick. The antidote to the pain of delayed gratification. Have what I wanted—this office—today and make no payments until…whenever.
I didn’t need a crystal ball to foretell the future of this deal. I’d take the office with every intention of buying it in a few years. But then I’d see my paying clientele dwindle, frightened off by the specter of my Cabal association. My outside work would be primarily pro bono, meaning we’d see no profit…and the cost of the business would continue to escalate, flying beyond reach.
“No, Papá,” I said. “I understand that you’re trying to help, but this is a problem that I need to resolve myself.”
I found Sean looking for me. On the drive to the airport, we discussed Cabal life or perhaps more “non-Cabal” life—what it was like to be a Cabal son living outside the organization. I suspected he was trying to get a sense of what it might be like for him, should he be forced into that situation, but I didn’t pry, just answered his questions as honestly as I could.
As we arrived, my cell phone rang. It was Sullivan from the Middleton Herald. Terri Arnell’s boyfriend had cut a deal, implicating the others and providing evidence. So the case was officially solved…and it was disheartening to realize how little that mattered now, how far things had escalated beyond the murder of a factory worker in Middleton, Washington.
Aaron’s plane was delayed. As Sean went to buy us coffees, I was left alone with my thoughts and, as hard as I tried to turn them to the questions surrounding Reichs’s death, they kept sliding back into forbidden territory: the Portland satellite office.
Was there any way Paige and I could manage this without becoming employees of the Cortez Cabal? Had Paige put aside enough to make a down payment on the business? Would he sell it, as he’d claimed? Or would he set the price so high we’d never afford a down payment? But even if we could make it, Paige would have to cover the monthly payments while the business struggled to its feet.
No, this time the sacrifices had to be mine. Could we rent the building? Agree to provide internal security investigation work to ensure the steady income needed to pay the rent? This would be a slippery slope but if it was the only solution …
The answer came to me so fast I inhaled sharply. There was a solution—one I’d trained myself never to consider. Yet under the circumstances, it was a compromise of ideals I was ready to make, if my father would agree.
As Sean returned with the coffees, I called home. Cassandra answered.
“Cassandra, it’s Lucas. Aaron’s flight has been delayed. Is Paige there?”
“You just missed her. She headed back to the Cabal office to check something about the case.”
I frowned. “Is she hoping to meet Simon there? He isn’t. But she should know that—they were planning to all go to breakfast after we left.”
“Well, she certainly didn’t share her plans with me. Something about discrepancies and coffee cups and taunting. You know how Paige is. She gets going and no one can understand her, let alone stop her.”
“Coffee cups and…?”
“Taunts. Apparently the young guard said Mr. Reichs was taunting Spencer Geddes, and Paige asked me if Spencer complained about it.”
“Did he?”
“No, and he was hardly the type to play silent stoic.”
“Meaning, Kepler lied. And Kepler said he’d gone for coffee, but I’ll wager Paige couldn’t find any mention of coffee cups in Simon’s crime scene report.”
“She tried to call you, but couldn’t get through.”
“And now she’s heading to the office knowing the only person there is Kepler himself.”
“Going to confront him? Surely Paige wouldn’t be so—” Cassandra stopped. “How far are you from that office?”
“I’m on my way.”
I LEFT SEAN TO AWAIT AARON. I PHONED PAIGE’S cell, but only got Cassandra again. Paige had been in such a rush to get a cab that she’d left her phone behind.
I would like to believe that Paige would never do anything as foolhardy as confront a potential killer in an empty building, but I wasn’t so sure. She would see Kepler as a handicapped opponent, still weak and injured. Perhaps she hadn’t jumped to the conclusion that he could be the killer, but merely viewed him as an unreliable witness.
I didn’t know what had happened in that cell, but I was reasonably certain now that it hadn’t been Reichs who’d gone in to collect that vampire saliva. I also suspected it hadn’t been Geddes who killed Reichs. He’d simply rendered his captives unconscious with bites. Kepler must have recovered first and killed Reichs. But why? The possibilities were endless—a personal vendetta, paving the way for promotion, starting a Cabal-vampire war….
I reached the Cabal office in record time. My father had promised to leave the rear door open for us, should we need to return to investigate. I slipped inside and eased it shut behind me.
I used a light spell to guide me through the back halls to the stairs. On the second floor, they exited near the main office. A few doors down was the room where Kepler had been recuperating.
That door was open. And the bed was empty. I paused there a moment, heart hammering. Then I heard the faint sound of Paige’s voice, sharp with irritation, coming from down the hall.
I recast my blur spell and slid along the wall to a closed door. It was the room we’d earlier used for the meeting. Paige’s voice came from within.
I cracked the door open. Then I started a binding spell, ready to kick the door open and cast it—
A second voice sounded…but not the one I expected. It was my father answering, his words indistinct through the heavily soundproofed walls.
Something hard and cold pressed against the back of my neck.
“Don’t move,” Kepler whispered. “Say one more word of that spell, and I swear to God I’ll pull this trigger. Don’t think I won’t.”
Kepler’s voice was pitched high, as if trying to convince himself. The gun barrel trembled against my neck. The only thing more dangerous than a determined gunman is a nervous one. I swallowed the spell and closed my mouth.
“We’re going to turn around and head for the stairs.”
I didn’t question. Better to play along and let him lower his guard.
“Don’t think I won’t kill you,” Kepler said as we reached the stairwell. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
He gave a high, shaky laugh and pushed open the door with his foot, guiding me through with the gun.
“You mean that having killed Reichs, you’re quite prepared to take another life,” I said as we started down the stairs.
An obvious ploy to get him talking and distract him, but few criminals can resist the urge to explain. It’s as if they’re waiting for the opportunity to unburden themselves, impressing me with their cleverness or winning my sympathy with their excuse.
“It was Reichs’s fault,” he said. “He was supposed to be out getting coffee. The vampire was asleep, and I’d slipped in to get something from him. But then Reichs came back early, and he saw me and started shouting.”
“And woke up Geddes.”
“Right. And then…Goddamn it, Reichs got me all confused. He was yelling at me to get out of the way so he could take a shot, and then the vampire shoved me into the chair and I hurt my leg, and I was there on the floor when he attacked Reichs.”
I could envision it. Kepler, on the ground, armed but doing nothing to help his comrade. Intent on saving himself. Training forgotten. Survival taking over. An inexcusable mistake for a security officer.
“Then he came after me,” Kepler continued. “He bit me and I passed out.”
“But you woke first.”
Kepler gave me a shove to the bottom landing. “I didn’t mean to kill Reichs.” He pushed open the door and prodded me out. “I was just so mad, thinking it was all his fault, that I was going to lose my job, probably even be charged, all because he had to play cowboy, rescuing me from a vampire.”
“A vampire who hadn’t touched you,” said a voice behind us. “And probably wasn’t planning to.”
Kepler whirled, hand still on my arm, whipping me around with him, gun still to my neck. Cassandra advanced on us.
“S—stay back, lady,” Kepler said. “This is none of your business. I’ve got a gun.”
“So I see,” she said, still walking.
I started to cast, but Kepler swung the gun from me and fired at Cassandra. The bullet hit her in the chest. She staggered, grimaced, shook it off, and continued her advance. Kepler’s finger tightened on the trigger, then stopped, caught in a binding spell. I followed it with an energy bolt that knocked him off his feet. Then I leapt onto his back, grabbing for the gun first, wrenching it from his fingers and sending it skating over the floor. Kepler reared, trying to fight, but I pinned him with his hands behind his back.
The stairwell door opened and my father and Paige flew through.
“The situation, I believe, is under control,” I said.
Ten minutes later, Paige and I were in a closed office, Troy and Griffin having taken custody of Kepler and placed him in the cell he’d once guarded while my father contacted the other Cabals with the news.
Paige had come to the office to see my father and discuss her findings with him, having called and found he was still there.
“You thought I came to confront Kepler?” she said. “By myself? Please. Give me a little credit.”
“Well, you can be somewhat impetuous …”
“That’s not impetuous. It’s stupid.” She put her arms around my neck. “I was being very careful, which is more than I can say for the guy who came rushing in here to rescue me without backup, without even checking to make sure the building was empty. Troy and Griffin were right downstairs in the lobby, if you’d bothered to check.”
“I was concerned for your safety.”
She rolled her eyes, face tilted to mine. “Ah, so when I act without thinking, I’m impetuous. If you do it, you’re chivalrous. Well, Cortez, your chivalry could have gotten you killed.”
“Hardly. I had the situation under control.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I did. As Kepler was talking, I was compiling a list of escape possibilities, starting with—”
She pressed her mouth to mine, cutting off my explanation and, after a moment, I realized it wasn’t really that important.
TWO DAYS LATER, THE DUST HAD SETTLED. The Cabals had still voted on the St. Cloud proposal but only the Nasts had supported it. The matter would not rest forever. For now, though, all was quiet.
That night, after we’d retired, I told Paige about my own proposal.
She listened quietly, taking it all in, then said, “Are you okay with that?”
“I am.”
She sat up in bed. “Are you sure? Because I know this is something you’ve said you’d never do …”
“Does it disappoint you that I am?”
She shook her head. “If you’re ever going to do it, this is definitely the right reason. I just want to be sure you aren’t feeling pressured into it. We can wait, get something in a few years—”
“I want to do this.”
“Then I guess the next step is finding out whether your dad will go for it.”
And that, indeed, was likely the biggest sticking point.
I’d invited my father to breakfast. I went alone.
Halfway through the meal, I said, “I’d like to discuss the office situation.”
“You’ve come to a decision.”
“We have. You said that if I took this office now, I could someday buy it from you. Would that offer stand now?”
“You mean, would I sell it to you now?” He leaned back, sighing softly. “I hope you aren’t thinking of taking out a loan. The operating costs alone could equal or outweigh loan payments, and I don’t want to see you and Paige saddled with that—”
“I mean buying it outright.” I met his gaze. “With my trust fund.”
He blinked. To me, my trust fund has always been off-limits. It was an unwanted inheritance from a corporation I wanted no part of. But, as Paige said, if I was ever to use it, this was the right way—Cabal money to build a firm to defend supernaturals, investigate Cabal injustices, and rebuild the power of the interracial council.
“Do you have enough?” he said. “Not just to buy the building, which I’m sure you can afford, but operating costs will be heavy in the early years, Lucas, and I know your brothers were badly hit when stocks sank a few years back. If you don’t have at least half of your original five million …”
“I invested rather conservatively,” I said. “A choice that saw me through the dips with minimal impact and, in subsequent years, paid off quite well. I have just over seven million.”
He smiled. “I should have known. Well, then, as finances are not a concern, let me make a few calls and we’ll see what we can do.”
We agreed on a figure. It was not a bargain—my father knew I’d balk at any hint of getting a deal and therefore being indebted to him. But neither did he attempt to overprice it and frighten me off. It was a fair deal.
Any custom work needed would be finished by my father’s crew, and was included in the price. Then Paige and I would complete construction, and save money by slowing the pace and choosing modest fittings and furnishings. The frugal choice, as always, which suited us both.
Later that same day, I brought Paige over and took her up to our “conjoined” office. As I sat on a pile of lumber, she wandered around, checking everything out, eyes glowing.
“So the divider goes here, I presume,” she said. “Equal windows, separate doors, a shared bathroom…I think we can fit a sitting area here, beside the divider, to further separate the spaces. Get a couple of chairs …” She grinned my way. “A comfortable futon…Oh, and locking doors. We definitely need locking doors.”
She walked to the plans. “We should consider renting out the offices on the first floor. We certainly won’t need them. But we’ll need to make sure access to the other floors is strictly secured, maybe use a key or code for the elevator. We wouldn’t want tenants wandering, especially into the basement with that cell.”
She lifted the plans. “The meeting room is perfect, big enough that we can start holding council meetings here. We’ll install teleconferencing abilities—that’s something we always wanted. We’ll move the receptionist’s office up here, with one executive assistant to cover reception and secretarial.” A sly grin. “Think we can talk Adam into it?”
“That, I believe, would be even less welcome than head of security.”
“I didn’t get the impression he was all that offended by head of security. Not when he realized it included detective work and SWAT detail. I was thinking…well, I’m not sure he’d take it …”
“You can always try. He’d be a welcome addition.”
She searched my gaze. “Really?”
I smiled. “Really.”
“Maybe security plus research, then. For executive assistant, maybe Savannah to start. It’s important for her to get some job experience. I know I’ve never pushed because she struggles with school, but it’s time. And working for us, we can make sure she’s free when homework heats up. So a security-officer-slash-researcher if Adam agrees, plus an executive assistant. I think that’ll be it for staff, at least for a few years.”
She continued to the windows. “These are gorgeous, huge windows, but being on the second floor, we’ll need blackout blinds for security when we’re out. I’m not sure how big a concern that is, but you’ll be a better judge of such things. Speaking of security, we’ll want a computer network with a server. A small one that can be expanded …”
And so she continued, happily making plans, barely stopping for breath. I added little, just sat in my spot and watched her. That was enough.